The Hand We're Dealt
by DragonRacer13
Summary: "Fate has a twisted sense of humor, it seems." At the time, Loghain had no idea just how much that simple phrase had in store for him. Or the Warden, for that matter.
1. A Battle of Wills

Official Disclaimer: I do not own any of the non-original characters or non-original plotline concepts contained below and a brief glance at my checking account can quickly confirm that I am making no money whatsoever on such fanfiction. Obviously, Bioware owns all Dragon Age: Origins characters and main storylines. I just want to borrow and play with them for a while before returning them (relatively worse for the wear, I'm sure). Well, maybe I'll return _most_ of them. David Gaider may have to mount a rescue party to come drag Loghain from out of my cold, dead fingers.

This fic is rated M for mature due to mild language, violence, and adult situations. Honestly, it's not gonna get any worse than what you could find at 8 p.m. flipping through cable and network channels.

Special thanks go out to **Phaonica**, my beta, who has done a most excellent job of helping me make certain scenes read more clearly (among other improvements) and for keeping me motivated and thinking someone besides just myself might actually enjoy these scribblings of mine. I couldn't ask for a better or more dedicated "constructive cheerleader"!

* * *

"Have you the courage to duel me yourself, Warden?" Loghain sneered, dark brows furrowing.

Kallian Tabris knew that she did. She had seen and done so many incredible, frightening things since the day Duncan had offered her absolution in the wake of her crimes, as justified as they felt to her even after a year's worth of campside reflection. The fact of the matter was that she had killed an arl's son and a good portion of his guards, and that meant certain execution. Ever since being given that second chance - and subsequently surviving the battle of Ostagar, a place where she honestly should have died with the other Grey Wardens - she felt like she was living on borrowed time and often acted as such, flinging herself into the heart of the battle and fighting toe-to-toe with the darkspawn, against every good instinct that should normally govern a stealthy rogue. The sight of her charging an ogre for a full frontal assault often served to inspire and rally the ragtag team of fighters she'd collected and, more often than not, vaguely horrified any bystanders being rescued. Word had spread far and fast of her battlefield prowess, unconventional and lunatic as it was, and her good deeds planted the seeds of doubt in many a Fereldan that perhaps their Hero of River Dane was mistaken in condemning the Grey Wardens.

In truth, much of her strength stemmed from the closely-knit group she'd formed around her: the almost-templar-turned-Grey Warden Alistair, pure of heart and powerful with shield; the intimidating and destructive swamp witch, Morrigan; the loyal and foreboding Mabari warhound, Daveth, named in honor of a Grey Warden recruit who had not survived the Joining; the beautiful but deadly bard, Leliana; the strong and silent qunari, Sten; the former Antivan Crow, Zevran, as sleek and silky as a finely-crafted poison; the wise and grandmotherly healer, Wynne; and the ale-guzzling, yet formidable, axe-wielding dwarf, Oghren. They gave her more than just their skills and blades - they gave her emotional support as well, even if it was something not always openly admitted by the city elf. Simply knowing they were there to fall back on gave her the stamina to surge forward and lead.

She had travelled to every corner of Ferelden with the ancient Grey Warden treaties, receiving oaths of army commitments from King Harrowmont and the dwarves of Orzammar, First Enchanter Irving and the Circle of Magi, and Arl Eamon and his forces at Redcliffe. The Dalish, however, had given her a little more than just a pledge of aid. They had offered her a home amongst their clan, if she so desired after the Blight was ended, and rewarded her lifting of the werewolves' curse by honoring her with blood writing. Having been a city elf raised in the Alienage, surrounded by humans but wistfully dreaming of her wild cousins, she almost worshipfully accepted and bade them decorate her face with a tribute to her order - facial tattoos that resembled a griffon's beak on her forehead and griffon wings upon her cheeks.

She and her party had spent the last year not just battling darkspawn and preparing to face the inevitable appearance of the Archdemon, but having to also outsmart and outmanuever Loghain's forces. Loghain, who gave Kallian emotions so mixed that she dare not share them even with Alistair, her closest friend and brother-in-arms. Loghain, who was a hero amongst the shemlen to such an extent that it was impossible to grow up a city elf in Denerim and not know of his sacrifices to free Ferelden from Orlais. Loghain, who at one time had also been a sort of folk hero to the Alienage elves because of his creation of the Night Elves, a band of city elves like themselves who he'd trusted to fight at his side against the Orlesians. Loghain, who had retreated at Ostagar and left the king, his troops, and the Grey Wardens to die at the hands of the darkspawn horde - and yet she couldn't help but have doubts and second-guessings that the battle was lost long before Loghain's forces fled. Loghain, who had branded the Grey Wardens as traitors and put a bounty on the head of her and Alistair and all who aided them. Loghain, who had Arl Eamon poisoned to keep him from interfering with the politics surrounding the late King Cailan. Loghain, who had allowed Howe to run amuck and unchecked, resulting in not only countless imprisonments and tortures - including that of fellow Grey Warden Riordan - but also the shipping of elves into Tevinter slavery from her own Alienage, not the least of which was her hahren, Valendrian, and nearly included her own father, Cyrion. Loghain, who haunted her thoughts alongside the darkspawn as a threat, but yet lacking the undeniable pure evil of the beasts.

And now it had all come down to this. A year's worth of fighting and travelling had led her to the Landsmeet. She had won the nobles' votes easily by focusing her arguments on the Blight at hand and the under-handed dealings Howe had engaged in under Loghain's once-good name - and it was disappointing, yet entirely unsurprising, that they were little moved by what had been allowed to happen to the Alienage. But just as she had expected, Loghain would not go down easily.

"Well?" Loghain prompted, shaking Kallian from her thoughts. "What will it be, Warden?"

Kallian glanced back at her companions. She met Alistair's eyes and saw him mouth at her to pick him, pretty please pick him. She tore her gaze away and looked at Wynne, who simply inclined her head in a slow nod. Zevran smiled warmly and winked at her. She would never ask any of them to fight in her place, but having their quiet support helped fill her with hope. Despite all the battles she had endured - not the least of which involved dueling the positively gargantuan wall of muscle that was Sten - Kallian felt the cold taste of trepidation on her tongue and the heavy weight of worry in the pit of her stomach. After all, she was just a small, lightweight rogue who had defied all odds through sheer force of will and blind luck now forced to face an intimidating and imposing man who had been fully engaged in, and also leading, battles for longer than she had been alive, a master military strategist encased in piercingly shiny chevalier armor wrested from his greatest conquered foe. If she lost this duel, everything would be lost; her life would be forfeit, her companions would be imprisoned if not executed, and Loghain's obsessive paranoia and preoccupation with Orlais would allow the Archdemon's Blight to swallow up Ferelden and possibly spread even further to other nations abroad. Whether he be a true enemy or simply a misguided veteran, Loghain had to finally be stopped by her now. Failure was not an option.

The Warden gulped quietly to herself and stepped forward, making a conscience effort to stand up straight and doing her best to look as worthy of battle with the Hero of River Dane as possible. She silently prayed that Isabela's duelist training would serve her well now that she was facing her first true one-on-one duel - and against a stronger and more experienced opponent, no less. "I will fight you," she finally answered, almost surprising herself with the amount of challenge and conviction she managed to muster into the reply.

Loghain curtly inclined his head towards her and stepped forward. "'A man is made by the quality of his enemies.' Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me?"

The assembled Landsmeet audience crowded in around them, forming a tight circle around Kallian and Loghain. A nobleman stood up in the balcony of banns and addressed the crowd and the duelists. "The rules of this duel are as follows," he announced. "Each participant will fight the other until one of the two should yield. The assembly will side with the victor of this duel."

With that, Loghain took a step towards Kallian and lowered his shield down in front of him, locking his gaze on her and taking a circling step to his right. Kallian matched him, bending her knees and stooping forward slightly in her battle stance, staring in his direction and stepping towards her right so that the two of them could properly circle each other. They circled like that for several moments, each sizing up the other. Keeping his icy, blue eyes locked with Kallian's warm, brown ones, Loghain slowly reached his right hand towards his longsword. Kallian matched his movement by reaching both of her hands toward her daggers, lightly fingering the pommels in anticipation. In one quick motion, Loghain unsheathed his sword and brought it up ready alongside his shield. Kallian followed his lead and unveiled her weapons of choice: her red Beastman dagger - which was more like a small, brutally serrated sword than a true dagger - spouting icy frost into the air from its cold enchantment in her left hand and Fang - a small, curved dagger that had once belonged to her mother, Adaia, that her father had given her - enchanted with a chance of paralysis rune clutched in her right hand, looking for all the world like a simple, uncharmed dagger.

Finally, Loghain charged towards Kallian with his shield leading the way, letting out a bestial warcry that nearly froze her in place as her blood ran cold. She managed to come to her senses in time to leap to the side just moments before his longsword could impale her. Loghain turned quickly to follow her dodge, slashing forward with his sword. The elf leapt backwards out of his reach again and tried to circle quickly around to his backside. Loghain was prepared for such a maneuver and merely pivoted in place, making sure to constantly face the Warden with his shield at the ready.

Kallian weighed her options. Loghain was suited in very thick, durable heavy armor. Despite the weight it must put on him, he was quick and lithe enough to keep up with her prowling stance, not allowing her to slip behind for a quick backstab between the metal plating. Indeed, it was obvious he was expecting that from her. His rather large shield looked ominous, promising a quick, disorienting concussion should he manage to bash her with it even just once. She mentally kicked herself for leaving her set of Wade's superior drakeskin armor back in her room at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate, having not anticipated the possibilitiy of a real fight breaking out. Dressed as she was in simple, light leather armor, Loghain's longsword would not have to work hard to run her through. In fact, about the only thing she'd done right was at least bring her weapons and to have already tied her copper hair back out of her face in a ponytail. Her mind raced with possible tactics. Her usual _modus operandi_, a full frontal assault, would not last very long for a rogue like her against such a champion warrior. To bring down a veteran as tough and experienced as Loghain, she would need to be able to strike at his weak points and pray it would be enough to wear him down.

Hoping that youth and quick feet would give her some advantage, Kallian began darting forwards and backwards in and out of his range, practically taunting him to strike at her. Perhaps if she could get Loghain to expend energy trying to follow her movements and striking at thin air, she could start to wear him down and take advantage of his fatigue, much like how a wolf can wear down a massive buck three times its size by getting it to overthink and overcompensate, eventually exhausting and disorienting the buck enough that it becomes easier to bring down.

And so began the dance, Kallian pouncing forward and thrusting a quick stab in his direction with her large dagger while Loghain would block with his shield or catch her frosty, red blade with his own and slide it off and away harmlessly, the ringing sound of steel-on-steel echoing around them; Loghain thrusting forward with his weight to try and knock her to the ground while Kallian would deftly spin and sidestep away, each time coming just a bit closer to reaching a gap in his armor with her ever-searching smaller dagger.

After what felt like ages, the Warden began to finally see some success. While Loghain's eyes were still just as intense and alert as they had been since the Landsmeet began, she could hear his breathing start to pick up to a more rapid pace. The dead weight in her stomach lightening ever so slightly, Kallian feigned a strike to Loghain's left. When he moved his shield to block and stepped back with his right leg to brace for the blow, the Warden suddenly changed direction. She instead surged to his right and jammed her small dagger into his upper, inner thigh, where a small gap in the armor allowed for his leg to pivot freely just below the hip. Loghain cried out in surprise and practically jumped backwards, pulling free of the dagger and glancing down to see just how close her strike had come to being much more serious than piercing only his leg.

Loghain glared back up at her with an utterly scandalized look. "Warden," he said, his tone deadly, "while most anything goes in this duel, I'd appreciate a gentlemen's agreement not to strike below the belt."

Kallian shot him a rather sheepish expression. "Um," she answered, "sorry?"

"Good enough," he snapped back, then caught the elf off-guard with a quick shield bash.

Kallian stumbled backwards, stunned, her head instantly throbbing and stars fluttering in front of her eyes. Before she could regain her senses, Loghain made her pay again with another bash, sending the Warden tumbling backwards onto the floor. The world suddenly slowed down as the wind was knocked completely out of her. Painfully and in agonizing slowness, the Warden turned her head to her left and was surprised to see she was still clutching her Beastman dagger tightly. Then, as if having to push against a strong, gale-force wind, she turned her head to the right. She was again surprised to see her right hand also still clutching its dagger. She also faintly registered the fact that a rather fuzzy-looking Alistair - whose blindingly shiny Armor of Diligence hurt her blurry vision - had his sword drawn and was being roughly held at bay by Loghain's guards. Beside him, confusingly going in and out of focus, Zevran stared at her and wildly gesticulated to something. He was also obviously trying to shout something at her, but everything sounded far away and distorted as if she were underwater. When breath suddenly and finally returned to her - oh, how sharp and painful that felt, like a million tiny daggers piercing her lungs! - the Warden lifted her groggy head to look up and was confused to see two of Loghain charging at her crumpled form. Wheezing and breathing heavily, Kallian quickly rolled out of both their paths, just to be sure. She shook her head, trying to clear it and gain back some focus, and scrambled back up on her feet.

Loghain pressed forward once more like a shark sensing blood in the water. He was still jiggling in and out of focus from her viewpoint. The sweat dripping into her eyes didn't help matters much either. She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead quickly and was surprised to see blood on it. The shield bash must have cut up her forehead in addition to giving her a mild concussion. _Lovely, _she thought sarcastically. _Well, let's try and return the favor, at least. Then we can both fight blind. _In desperation, she employed a bit of dirty fighting when he drew near enough, striking at his face with the butt of her hand and pommel of her dagger. It was a direct hit. Loghain staggered back, now his turn to be stunned as blood began dripping from his nose. Kallian seized the opportunity and half-blindly swung her fist at his head again. Fortunately for Loghain the small dagger she was clutching missed his scalp by a whisper, but one of her finger joints still popped him right in the eye and her ring cut a gash just above his left eyebrow.

Loghain growled at her, furious that she had seemingly gotten the upper hand as blood now poured freely from his broken nose, began to drip into his blackening left eye, and ran warmly down his right leg from her first connected strike. He stepped towards her and began swinging his longsword in broad arcs in front of him, forcing her further back towards the audience gathered at the edge of their dueling circle and keeping her at bay. He wasn't sure he half-cared if his wild swings caught a few onlookers by accident, just as long as he could strike down that upstart Grey Warden and bring an end to the madness she'd spread throughout Ferelden.

When she couldn't back up any further, Loghain grinned triumphantly. He drew his swordarm back to deliver the final blow. Mere moments before his downstroke, Kallian dove towards the floor and somersaulted, leaving Loghain's longsword biting uselessly at the space she had just occupied. The Warden quickly rolled over onto her back, just behind Loghain, and viciously kicked at the back of his left knee. He fell backwards and she rolled out of the way in time not to become pinned underneath him in the process. Before he could recover, she pounced on top of him and, straddling his stomach, drove her smaller dagger into the gap in his armor around his right shoulderblade. Furrowing her brow and baring her teeth like a beast, Kallian savagely twisted the blade and rooted around, opening the wound as much as she could to try and take his dominant arm out of the fight. Loghain cried out in pain and anger. Then, the chance of paralysis rune kicked into action and left his entire right arm feeling dead and heavy. His longsword loudly clattered as it fell uselessly to the floor.

Quickly realizing how desperate his situation had become, Loghain drew from his well of reserve strength and determination and angrily flipped Kallian off of him, switching it so that now he straddled her and pinned her to the floor with his shield protectively separating them. They both squirmed and grunted as they scrapped on the ground, Kallian trying to wriggle her way out from underneath his crushing weight and Loghain struggling to keep her pinned so she couldn't injure him any further. The Warden kicked out with both legs, but only connected with heavy armor. She tried to slip at least one of her arms free, but both were trapped tight against her body by Loghain's shield. She thrashed right and left, but he kept steady and firm pressure on top of her.

Both opponents appeared visibly exhausted, their breathing equally quick and ragged. Loghain glared at the Warden with narrowed, bloodshot eyes; her own answered wide with a hint of fright creeping in at the edges. Kallian feared she would pass out from lack of air shortly if she couldn't find a way to roll his weight off of her.

Face close to hers and nearly panting, Loghain rasped, "It's over, Warden. Do you yield?"

Growling like a trapped animal, Kallian spat. "I'll never yield to you, Loghain. Never!"

"Now that's a bit melodramatic," he chastised almost breathlessly, "don't you think?"

With nothing else free to move, she tried the most unconventional tactic she could think of: she thrusted her head up as fast as she could and headbutted Loghain as hard as possible. They both cried out in pain. However, Kallian recovered first and the move proved distracting enough that she was able to wriggle out from under him.

Loghain was not far behind. He managed to scramble back onto his feet again, though he now swayed unsteadily and favored his injured right leg and arm, underneath which a rather sizeable pool of blood had begun to collect. Sweaty, bloody, and still vaguely disoriented from the shield bashes and the headbutt, Kallian had otherwise managed to come through largely uninjured while Loghain looked very pale and none-too-healthy standing opposite her. It was the Warden's turn to sense her advantage in the duel and she cocked her head to one side, idlely wondering if she had managed to accidentally nick an artery in his shoulder. Her mind quickly sensed that it was nearing time to finally put this fight to bed for both their sakes'.

The Warden rushed towards Loghain once more. He raised his shield with his still-good left arm to deflect her and possibly attempt another punishing bash. Instead, Kallian slipped to his partially-paralyzed and injured right side, cast aside her Beastman dagger - which was just too large to try and penetrate the narrow armor gaps - and transferred the small Fang dagger to her left hand in its place. Grabbing ahold of Loghain's paralyzed right shoulder to anchor herself as she halted her charge, she pivoted on her heel and slipped behind him for the backstab. Being right-handed, it was a bit awkward using her left hand to drive the dagger into the back of his left knee, but she managed to hit the small slit in the armor and drove the blade home.

Everything from his knee down suddenly felt heavy with paralysis. Unable to stand with both legs injured, Loghain fell roughly to his knees with a keening groan of pain, disbelief, and defeat. He let his shield fall to the floor to join his abandoned longsword. Panting heavily from the exertion, he gazed up at Kallian with tired eyes as she circled back around to face him. She had retrieved the large, brutal-looking dagger and held it ready in her right hand, he noticed, and he hid his slight feeling of wariness and trepidation well. Despite her own ragged breathing and weariness, she stood tall before him and looked down, locking eyes with him.

"I yield, Warden!" Loghain gasped, holding up his non-paralyzed left hand in surrender, struggling to balance his position on his knees. "I had thought you a child trying to play at war, but I was wrong. There's a strength in you I've not seen since Maric died." With that, he bowed his head and stared at the floor, awaiting the Warden's decision on his fate.

Kallian felt a little light-headed at it all, even as she also felt Wynne's healing magic coursing through her and repairing her injuries. She could scarcely believe that this brutal duel was finally ended and that she had come out the victor. Loghain had proven to be an incredibly strong and resilient opponent. _What will happen to him now? _she wondered. She knew she was about to put Alistair and Anora on the throne together, which meant Loghain would no longer be regent. She certainly knew what Alistair expected and the Warden mentally kicked herself for never having voiced her doubts and concerns to him before now. She had always remained silent whenever Alistair talked about vengeance against Loghain and it seemed clear, now that the "ideal moment" he always ranted on about had arrived, that her silence had been taken as consent and agreement on the matter.

But she didn't really know where she stood, to be perfectly honest. Loghain had certainly been a gigantic nuisance to them for almost a year and had done rather questionable and damning things in regards to Ostagar and its aftermath. What he'd allowed to happen in the Alienage was her biggest source of fury. However, after having killed so many others in the name of vengeance over the past year, she felt not one bit better about any of it. The threat of the Blight had caused her to realign her priorities; where she might have rather easily ended Loghain's life had he pulled such a stunt back before she was a Grey Warden, she now felt content with having simply beaten him, both figuratively and quite literally. The more rational part of her mind whispered that he possessed so many strengths that could still be an asset to Ferelden, if he could finally be swayed to see reason now that he was defeated. For that reason alone it seemed a shame that she should be forced to execute him.

And what of Anora, who stood off to the Warden's right and wore a rather apprehensive expression? Hadn't Kallian promised to find a way to spare her father if Anora agreed to marry Alistair and support them in the Landsmeet? So far, the queen had upheld her end of the bargain. Kallian remembered all too well what it felt like to see a parent struck down before her very eyes, could still feel the horror of being covered in her mother's blood after the filthy shems had slit her throat as if they were putting down a rabid, dangerous dog in the street. Could she honestly inflict that same torment on someone else?

"Well?" Alistair asked expectantly from behind. "What are you waiting for?"

She turned around and stared at Alistair for a moment. He gave her a rather impatient look and motioned towards where Loghain kneeled. Next to him stood Wynne, who gazed at her sympathetically but otherwise offered none of her usual sage advise. Zevran merely shrugged. Kallian turned back around, feeling completely and utterly lost and alone despite the sea of people around her. _Why, _she wondered, _can't imprisonment be an option? _But she had a feeling Loghain was no creature to brook being penned in against his will.

"Look, if you can't do it, then let me," offered Alistair. "Hasn't that monster caused us enough pain and grief? Caused all of _Ferelden_ enough pain and grief?" At that, Loghain looked up as if he'd suddenly been pierced once more by a dagger.

Kallian felt the sudden urge to turn around and slap Alistair, but swallowed it back down. He was right, after all. Loghain _had_ caused much pain and grief since their first meeting at Ostagar. Yet, even though Loghain had made himself a terrible thorn-in-the-side to them all, she felt no overwhelming desire to kill him now like she had that bastard Vaughan. _But I guess I don't really have a choice, _she sighed inwardly. So, she re-tightened the grip on her Beastman dagger and tried to summon up the willpower. Tried thinking of how it felt in those first few moments when the darkspawn stormed the top of the Tower of Ishal, when Loghain's abandonment felt the most terrible on a personal level - although they knew nothing of his desertion at that time until after the battle. Tried to think of all the nights she had gently held Alistair by the campfire, trying to comfort his sobs for Duncan. Tried to think of the anger she felt when bandits, of all people, outside of Lothering told her the Grey Wardens were being blamed for the Ostagar massacre, per Loghain's word. Tried to think of how offended she was to learn Loghain had hired an assassin to take out her and Alistair. Tried to rekindle her disgust and rage at discovering Loghain had signed off on shipping her neighbors, her hahren, her _father_ off into Tevinter slavery; dredging back up the very moment she'd first spotted Cyrion crammed into a small cage and packed in from all sides by elves she'd grown up knowing her whole life.

The Warden narrowed her eyes with a pained look and she shakingly drew the dagger back, winding it up for one fatal, bloody sweep. A defeated yet accepting look creapt into Loghain's eyes and he bowed his head again, waiting for the final blow. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anora - the most heart-breaking expression on her tear-streaked face - start to step forward as if to stand by her father's side in his final moments. She saw Ser Cauthrien gently grab the queen by the shoulders and hold her back, looking rather pained herself.

Then she heard Anora cry out. "No! Please, you promised..." A short, choking pause. "You promised, Warden. Please... father..."

"Anora," Loghain rasped. "Don't do this. You have to be strong. This is the way it has to be."

Hitched breaths from the queen; then, "I love you, father."

A pause. A gulp. "I love you, too, Anora."

There was a very palpable moment of silence after that. Then, the crashing sound of the Warden throwing her blade down to the ground. "I will _not _be a part of this travesty," she said defiantly through the lump in her throat. "If Loghain has to die in order for anything to be resolved politically, then forget this Landsmeet! It's over. I'm done. If it's not asking too much, I have a Blight to go stop now." And with that, she spun and started to stomp back to her party. Loghain looked back up with wide eyes and eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Alistair stepped forward with a cold mask over his face and unsheathed Oathkeeper, which crackled and buzzed lightly from its lightning enchantment. "Fine, I'll do it. Never thought I'd see the day when you'd chicken out on your duty."

Kallian stopped in her tracks and sidestepped to intercept her fellow Grey Warden. "Excuse me?" she hissed, inches from his face. "I don't recall part of my _duty_ as a Grey Warden involving slaying people's parents in front of them. To think, all this time I've been fooled into believing it was about stopping the Blight and killing the Archdemon. Silly me!"

"That bastard," Alistair argued, pointing at Loghain, who was now watching the sudden turn of events quite avidly, "has stood in our way of doing just that for the past year. You've cut down anyone else who stood in our way. Or have you forgotten?"

"Not if they genuinely surrendered... or had you forgotten that?" Kallian seethed, looking rather offended by his remark. "Besides, this is different, Alistair," she said through gritted teeth, fighting hard to keep from crying. It was her one real weak point, despite all her strengths. There was just no way to stem the tears in some situations, even if she didn't allow them to actually interfere with her words and actions; they would still start to fall and betray her, like rebels all their own. She determined it would not happen this time. She had to stand her ground.

"How is it any different?" spat Alistair. "This isn't some carta thug who grew up knowing nothing else or a bandit trying to rob passersby in order to feed his family!" He shook his head in frustration. "Look, Kal, what happened to your mother when you were twelve is both deplorable and heart-breaking, but it has no bearing whatsoever on _this. _Can't you see that? Can't you separate your own personal feelings from all this?"

"Oh, you're one to talk!" she shot back, her voice raising and cracking despite her best efforts. "The only reason you're so bent on butchering Loghain is because you feel like he killed Duncan personally by retreating at Ostagar! So, don't you lecture _me_ on personal feelings, Alistair. Don't. You. DARE!"

Alistair bowed up at that, starting to shake with barely-contained rage. "That was a low blow, Kal, even for you."

"Oh, and your comment about my mother wasn't?"

Alistair snorted, honestly shocked that Kallian was fighting with him on this issue. He had always thought they were on the same page together; at least, she had never voiced any objections before when he had talked of this day to come. "Look," he said, a bit more softly, trying to reason with her, "if this whole situation is a bit... too much... like what you experienced, we can go about it more humanely. Let them say their goodbyes in private and have a proper execution later, one befitting a traitor to the Crown."

The Warden gazed down at her feet in thought, biting her lower lip at her inner conflict. That was, after all, a perfectly sensible compromise on Alistair's part. She couldn't really argue against it. But she still felt frozen with indecision. Even though the situations were nothing alike, the feeling reminded her exactly of how she felt back at Castle Redcliffe, faced with the dreadful choice of letting Jowan sacrifice Lady Isolde in order to save her child's life or kill Connor to stop the demon's deathgrip on the village. She hadn't felt they could risk leaving the village to the demon's machinations in order to seek help from the Circle Tower, so she had been forced to choose who would die and who would live. It was an utterly wrenching situation, one that had left her dry heaving in private after she made her decision and awaited to see if Morrigan's venture into the Fade would successfully save Connor. She had constantly questioned her judgment for weeks after that and, predictably, Alistair had not been terribly pleased with her decision _then_ either.

Kallian looked back up at Alistair, then past him at Anora and Loghain. She felt sick to her stomach. Could she really condemn someone to death again like that? Not in the heat of battle or in self-defense or the defense of others, but as a cold, logical choice? A part of her agreed with Alistair, if only to end the fight with him and be done with this political mess. But a better part of her still felt horrified by the notion. It felt _wrong_... this all felt so wrong... and as illogical as it was, her gut had never lied to her before. She frowned, locked eyes with Alistair, and braced herself. "No," she commanded, simply and firmly.

Alistair's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "What?" he growled, temper instantly flaring back up.

Riordan chose that moment, just before it seemed the two Grey Wardens would come to actual fisticuffs, to slide into the picture. "Ahem," he loudly cleared his throat to grab their attention. "There _is_ another way."

Kallian looked over with sudden interest, as did everyone else in the room. Alistair raised an eyebrow in irritation.

"Loghain is a strong and powerful general, yes?" continued Riordan. "A cunning military strategist. A man dedicated to his country and who would do anything to protect it from any threat, yes?"

Kallian nodded. Alistair furrowed his brows and took on a positively smoldering look.

Riordan shot them a half-cocked grin. "Then why not make him one of us? He would be a great asset, no? What better way for him to defend Ferelden than to help stop the Blight? Let's put him through the Joining."

The Warden's eyebrows crinkled with uncertainty as she pondered just how much of an asset Loghain could actually be in the party, slaying darkspawn and sharing strategy - the latter of which she severely lacked, considering most of her good fortune to date had relied on sheer, blind luck. She stifled a wry chuckle at the irony of the thought, but was it really such a bad idea? Would Loghain even entertain the notion of siding with them? Surely he would have to, considering Alistair was ready to strike him down if she wasn't. But just as importantly, how would the rest of the party react? Could they accept him or would they make the matter impossible? It was abundantly clear that Alistair would be a bear to win over; would the others react just as harshly?

"No!" growled Alistair. "No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely NOT!"

Anora seized at the slight hope of her father's survival and added, "Isn't the Joining oftentimes fatal? If my father lives, you'll have gained a powerful ally indeed. If he doesn't, then you'll still have had your revenge."

"I think... that's..." Kallian said hesitantly, surprised by it herself, "... a really sensible idea, actually."

"What?" Alistair turned and practically shouted in her ear. "You can't be serious about this?" At the elf's firm look, he shook his head. "I won't stand for it. I will _not _call that... that _monster_ my brother," Alistair seethed, pointing once again at Loghain and starting to visibly tremble with emotion.

Kallian sighed and said quietly, "It's what Duncan would do."

Alistair shook his head, his breathing becoming erratic, looking like he was moments away from breaking down and crying. It broke Kallian's heart, but she felt she could placate him and hold his hand no longer. "Don't," Alistair begged. "Don't bring up his name in this."

"But you know this to be true, Alistair. You're letting your hate and your... your _obsession_ with revenge cloud your judgment."

"Am I?" he asked. "Somehow I don't think Duncan would take someone who committed regicide."

There was a moment's pause before the Warden spoke. "He took me," she said softly, almost at a whisper. "I didn't kill a king, no, but I did kill nobility all the same."

"That was different!" he shouted. "That was _justified_, Kal, and you know it! Loghain left the king to die... left us _all _to die! How could you possibly justify that? How could you possibly think he'd show us any more shred of loyalty than he showed his own son-in-law?"

"Loyalty does not matter once you become a Grey Warden," Riordan interrupted. "All that matters then is fighting the darkspawn. The Joining binds us to the them. You know this. If you were to forswear your oath and flee today, you would find yourself in the Deep Roads or the Blight lands, given time. Besides, we are not judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits - anyone with the skill and mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us. We cannot afford to be choosy in where we draw recruits. What is important is skill and the ability to get the job done at any and all costs."

"He's right, Alistair," Kallian added, glad to have a voice of reason to fall back on.

Alistair shook his head slowly. "I can't believe you're honestly considering this."

"I've always had to be the one to make the hard decisions in the past," she argued. From the corner of her eye, she saw Loghain arch an eyebrow at her. "The decisions nobody else wanted to make. Why should it be any different now?"

"I feel like I don't even know you anymore." Alistair's chest heaved, his voice keening. "I thought you were my friend."

The elf lowered her head. The conversation was spiralling out of control and she wasn't sure how to salvage it. "And I thought you were my brother."

They were both quiet for a moment before Alistair hardened his face. "Fine, I'll do it."

Kallian looked up in shock. Riordan raised an eyebrow.

"I don't even want it," continued Alistair, "but I'll become king if it means bringing an end to _him_." He glared in Loghain's direction.

"This is who you want to be king?" Anora scoffed, joining the fray again. "This selfish, little man-child?"

"No, Alistair," the Warden sighed. "It's not going to be like this."

"You're right, it _isn't _going to be like this," he snorted, bristling. "I'm through taking orders from you."

Anora glared at Alistair and turned to address Kallian. "So, the whole Landsmeet is waiting, Warden. Who's it going to be?"

Kallian looked back and forth between Anora and Alistair, feeling her heart drop down into her stomach. _How did everything go so wrong? _she lamented. Anora stood confidantly and gave the Warden an expectant look. It was obvious that the previously arranged marriage was no longer on the table given Alistair's open desire to see her father dead. Alistair, in turn, gave Kallian an icy glare that all but told her that their close friendship was irrevocably damaged by her reluctance to give in to his one demand. She felt precariously balanced on the very top of a mountain, about to face a painful fall down either side no matter her efforts. After taking a deep, shuddering breath, she answered, "Queen Anora."

Alistair balked, looking as if he felt several times betrayed by Kallian. Tears welled in his eyes as he begged, "Please... don't do this to me... ask me for a pound of my flesh or for all the gold in Orlais, but don't ask me to call him my brother. Becoming a Grey Warden shouldn't be considered a punishment."

"You're right, Alistair. Being a Grey Warden isn't a punishment," she answered in barely a whisper, her heart breaking as she forced herself to meet his moist eyes. She never could bear to see him cry. "But I'm not using it as one. My decision is final; Loghain will endure the Joining. If I have to invoke the Rite of Conscription, I will."

Kallian choked back tears as she watched something inside Alistair die before her very eyes. Such a falling out had never even crossed her mind as a potential outcome of all this. Then again, neither had the possibility of Loghain becoming a Grey Warden. _Shame on me for not seeing all the possible angles,_ she admonished herself. She knew whatever came from this moment forward would be solely and entirely on her head.

"So, this is it, then?" Alistair said, voice cracking. "This is how it ends?"

"It doesn't have to end at all, Alistair." Her voice sounded a mile away to her ears, which were instead filled with the overwhelming sound of her heart pounding in them. He couldn't possibly be considering what she thought he was, could he?

"I'm leaving." His voice was so set and so final, Kallian knew that they had passed the point of no return. There was no persuading Alistair to change his mind on this matter and the Warden suddenly became very afraid that she might throw up right there in front of the entire Landsmeet.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Anora interrupted tersely. "You still have a claim to the crown. Rebellions could be raised in your name. I cannot have that. You will need to be executed immediately."

Kallian spun on her, instantly furious. "What?" she shouted, shaking with renewed rage. "After I just destroyed my best friend to save your father? No. Unacceptable. You owe me a boon, Anora. Alistair lives."

Anora looked at the Warden dubiously. "That is what you wish of me?"

Kallian could see Alistair looking at her with an unreadable expression. "Yes," she answered firmly. "Most emphatically, yes."

"Then, Alistair," Anored addressed him, "I need you to renounce all current and future claim to the Ferelden throne in Maric's name."

"Yes, absolutely," he answered immediately, voice sounding hollow. "I never wanted it anyway."

"Then you are hereby exiled from these lands," she announced. "Go with your life and Maker watch over you."

"Fine," Alistair choked. "Just fine. I don't want a thing to do with Ferelden or any of you people ever again. I swear it." He caught Kallian's eyes one last time, briefly, then stormed out the door. An awkward silence followed. The Warden stared at the closed doors, feeling a hole open up in her chest and half-expecting her heart to fall out of it and splat onto the floor. _This was not how the Landsmeet was supposed to go, _she reeled. _Not at all. _She fought hard to ignore a sudden light-headedness. The last thing she needed to do right now was faint. Or vomit. She still definitely felt like the latter was going to happen relatively soon, despite her best efforts. Because surely she had not just watched her best friend and fellow Grey Warden walk out into exile, never to be seen or heard from again, had she? The thought was unbearable and she bit her tongue sharply to stop the scream that rose in the bottom of her throat.

"Um," Zevran broke the silence, a worried look on his face. "What just happened?"

"Warden?" Riordan stepped forward, placing a strong hand on her shoulder. "I know this is obviously a very bad time for you, but I must insist that we move quickly with the Joining."

Kallian gazed over at him, a questioning look on her face. It felt like she was looking at him from a thousand miles away, as if she were not physically in her body and she was, instead, watching some horrible nightmare. She was certain that any minute now she would awaken, covered in a cold sweat, and find herself safely slumped over the campfire log. Alistair would be on watch beside her, ready to either lend a sympathetic ear or to light-heartedly pick on her mercilessly for falling asleep on watch, just as he always had a thousand times before since that very first night in camp.

Riordan shrugged non-chalantly. "While everyone was busy arguing, Loghain has been very patiently waiting and bleeding."

That brought the Warden slamming back to reality and she immediately spun around. Loghain looked alarmingly pale and glassy-eyed, kneeling in a disturbingly large pool of blood, supported on either side by his daughter and Ser Cauthrien. He seemed likely to pass out without a moment's notice. Kallian sprang into action, shoving the prior events deep down and out of the way for the time being, and hurried towards him while calling, "Wynne! Need you over here!"

"Yes, Warden," the old mage answered, sounding uncharacteristically bitter. Confusion that Wynne had addressed her by her title and not her given name popped into Kallian's mind briefly, but she shoved that down as well in order to deal with the task at hand.

* * *

Author's Note: Hopefully, this has been a fun introduction. Please review, if at all possible, and let me know it doesn't entirely suck! And since music is such a huge influence for me, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

The Dueling Scene was brought to you by "You're Going Down" by Sick Puppies

The Argument with Alistair Scene was brought to you equally by "Hate Me" by Blue October and "Snuff" by Slipknot


	2. New Beginnings for Old Heroes

Author's Notes: Once again, a big THANK YOU to **Phaonica**, my lovely beta. I also want to take a moment to thank my awesome reviewers: **mousestalker**, **sleepyowlet**, **Gene Dark**, and **maskedpainter**. And special thanks to **Rabinna** for the very long and thoughtful review! I am delighted everyone is enjoying the ride so far.

* * *

Loghain could scarcely believe what had just happened during the Landsmeet. One moment, he had been doing his best to save Ferelden from the increasing darkspawn attacks alongside the civil war that had erupted in the wake of Cailan's death, all while reassuring Orlais that their Grey Wardens and their far-too-eager chevaliers sitting and waiting at the border were not needed to "aid" them. In the next moment, that upstart pup of a female elf had managed to turn all but one of the banns against him. Him! The Hero of River Dane. The one who had finally managed to defeat the chevaliers and win back Ferelden's independence. How dare they judge him when they had not shed a drop of the blood he had for this country! Just like that, with a few well-placed platitudes that hit just the right nerves in just the right places, the Warden had turned Ferelden against the very man that had freed her. And then the Warden had backed up all her talk by fighting him with a singular ferocity and tenacity he had not faced since he'd challenged Rowan to a duel and nearly regretted it all those years ago, back when he had been a much younger man.

It both galled and worried him that what she had been proclaiming across the countryside for a whole year - that this was a Blight and the danger was very close and real - was true, something that he had only been able to finally admit to himself not too long ago. He had been trying not to think about it, trying not to think about how all signs seemed to point that way, but it was both hard and frightening to acknowledge. He hadn't the forces to deal with such an invasion and surely the meager armies she had managed to raise wouldn't do much better. Just what did she, as a solitary Grey Warden, have that he didn't that could possibly stop the Blight? And where was this supposed Archdemon when no signs of a dragon of any type had been seen in almost... well, in almost thirty years, since the high dragon he had spotted the morning of the Battle of River Dane? If this were truly a Blight, he was not quite sure how to defeat it. And if this were truly a Blight, had the Witch of the Wilds' prophecy all those years ago been true? Was this the very Blight Maric was not meant to see? Loghain couldn't wrap his mind around it. If that much was true, then how had he betrayed Maric? He couldn't think of a single instance when he hadn't fought and bled for his friend, his king.

_"What about when you slept with Maric's betrothed?" _the witch's voice seemed to rasp in the back of his mind. _"Down in the Deep Roads?"_

_No, _Loghain thought, the memory bringing back so much pain and longing. _No, that wasn't a betrayal. I gave her back. I gave her back for his sake and for Ferelden. _

_"And then left their only son to die at Ostagar?" _the voice continued. "_Maric's son. __**Her**__ son. The son who married your daughter. Was that not a betrayal?"_

_No, _Loghain's mind cried. _I tried to get Cailan to see reason, but he was too stubborn. His death was his own doing when he foolishly cast his lot in with the Grey Wardens. They can't be trusted any more than the damned Orlesians._

At that moment, Riordan loudly cleared his throat, wearing an irritated expression. The Orlesian Grey Warden glared at Loghain, and Loghain realized rather belatedly that he must have muttered that last thought aloud. "Did you even hear a word I just said?" the Grey Warden asked.

"Yes..." Loghain said, then thought better of it and admitted, "... no, actually. No."

Riordan sighed in a long-suffering manner and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay," he said, "to sum up what _had _been a rather detailed speech: there is a chance you may not survive the Joining. Darkspawn blood is poisonous and often fatal when ingested. We Grey Wardens are able to master that taint and use it to our advantage. If you survive, which I think you probably will, you will then be able to sense the presence of darkspawn."

"Is that all?" Loghain drawled sarcastically.

"No," Riordan shot back tersely, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. "You'll also have a rather unquenchable appetite, terrible nightmares, and..." The Orlesian seemed hesitant to finish, but pushed forward anyway. "Given that you are submitting yourself to the taint at a much older age than most recruits, it's hard to say how long you may live. The younger recruits usually only make it for about thirty years. You... you will not have nearly that long, even if you are good at avoiding violent death before then."

While Loghain balked inwardly, he kept a straight face. "Well, in that case, where do I sign up?"

With a suddenly serious and grim expression, Riordan handed the goblet to Loghain. He took the chalice, looked down at the reddish-black, viscous substance, and said, "So, this is still a death sentence - just slightly delayed." Riordan nodded, even though it hadn't really been a question. Loghain took a deep breath and braced himself. "I understand."

With that, Riordan recited the Grey Warden's Joining oath as Loghain took another deep breath and brought the cup to his mouth. The darkspawn blood, laced with a drop of blood from the last Archdemon, felt heavy and hot against his lips and he grimaced. Then, steeled with resolve, Loghain parted his lips and let the mixture slide in. He fought to keep from immediately gagging as the blood filled his mouth, almost overwhelming him with the taste of copper and despair. It crawled thickly down his throat, burning as it went. He dropped the goblet as he clutched at his neck, fighting his body's natural instinct to retch and discharge the poisonous substance. With great effort, Loghain swallowed.

For a few moments, nothing happened. He looked up and caught Riordan's relieved grin. That was when the pain set in, worse than any Loghain had ever felt in his life. It was as if his body were tearing itself apart from the inside out, all afire and contracting muscles. Everything seized up and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He thought he heard a scream, and then wasn't sure if it was coming from all the buzzing and humming inside his skull or if he was actually physically screaming out loud. The cacophony of ringing in his ears grew to a crescendo of roaring, screeching anger and Loghain cradled his pounding head in his hands. After several painful moments, blissful darkness finally overtook him. His armor made a terrible crashing sound as his body crumpled to the floor.

* * *

Kallian made what, in her mind, was a slow walk of shame back to the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. Riordan had already ferried Loghain in that direction, figuring it was best to do the Joining close to their ultimate point of departure. Anora and Ser Cauthrien went close behind in tow. The Warden was thankful for it, not wishing to be further involved with any of them at the present moment. Instead, she walked alone, far ahead of Zevran and Wynne who, mercifully, were giving her the solitude she needed. For the most part, she kept her eyes cast down, looking at the ground just in front of her feet. She'd look up briefly to keep her bearings, but otherwise she had no desire to see the townspeople going about their lives as if nothing earth-shattering had just occurred. Kallian half-expected to hear Alistair's voice at any moment, hailing her down and apologizing for over-reacting earlier. But the lead feeling in her gut, weighing her down from the inside out, told her that it was different this time. There was no crossing the rift her moment of mercy had torn between them. Alistair was gone and he was not coming back. There would be no more apologies, no more friendly fist bumps against the shoulder and moving forward like nothing had ever happened.

It didn't take long for the party to return, although it may as well have been a lifetime to the Warden. Zevran and Wynne closed the gap between them as they entered the estate and Kallian could almost feel a palpable unease radiating from them both. The Antivan was the first to break the silence. He pulled up alongside his fellow elf, wrapped a concerned arm around her shoulders, and leaned in close. "I'll go round up the others and fill them in," he whispered in her ear. "You know, try to deflect any awkward questions from coming your way."

Kallian turned to him, looking at the assassin almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. She stopped, grabbed both his shoulders, and locked eyes with him. "You are a good and true friend, Zev," she said, lightly shaking his shoulders for emphasis. "I hope you know how much I appreciate it." Then, she wrapped him tightly in a big, bear hug.

Zevran looked a bit taken aback at the sudden affection, having gotten used to the Warden constantly shooting him down whenever he would genuinely try to flirt in her general direction. He patted her back in the best non-lewd, platonic manner he could muster. "Anything for you, Kal," he answered honestly. "Anything, you just ask."

She released him then, the moment over almost as quickly as it had begun. She smiled at him and turned to head towards the back rooms of the estate. Wynne followed dutifully behind her. Zevran took a deep breath, sighed longingly to himself, and turned to go collect the rest of the party members.

When the Warden reached the split at the back hallway - where one branch led off to their rooms and the room Anora had been occupying, while the other led to Alistair and Arl Eamon's quarters - Leliana came rushing up from the right and practically dragged Kallian over towards the first doorway. "Kal!" the bard exclaimed. "Oh, Maker, what happened? What happened? Did you lose the Landsmeet?" She gasped, tightening her unrelenting grip on the elf's arm. "Oh, no, you did, didn't you? Oh, what will become of us? Should we pack quickly and run? Are guards coming?"

Wynne shot her an irritated look. "Maker's breath, girl, would you stop for just a moment and let us answer?"

Kallian looked at Leliana and sighed, "No, we won the Landsmeet." _We just lost Alistair, is all, _she mentally lamented.

Her forlorn expression completely threw the Orlesian off balance given the good news she had just uttered. "But," Leliana protested, "if you won, why did Alistair pack his belongings so quickly and storm off? Why has Arl Eamon locked himself in his room?"

"Because I may have made the most terrible decision of my life," Kallian confessed, numbly following Leliana's tugging grasp into the room Alistair had just occupied only hours before.

When no further response seemed forthcoming, Leliana prodded, "So, what happened? Alistair wouldn't answer any of my questions... didn't even acknowledge my presence. It was so odd, so unlike him. Why do you think you've made a mistake?"

The Warden turned her head in Leliana's direction once more, looking lost. "Because my decision caused Alistair to leave us. Permanently." She bit her bottom lip hard, trying desperately to stifle the sobs that were creeping up her chest.

Leliana gasped and covered her nose and mouth with both hands. "No," she breathed in disbelief, "he can't have."

"Well, he didn't have much of a choice," Wynne butted in. "He's exiled from Ferelden."

"Oh, Maker..." Leliana moaned. "Maker forgive us. What _happened_, Kal?"

When it didn't seem the elf would continue the story, Wynne stepped in. "Kallian won the Landsmeet quite easily with her arguments," the mage explained, "but Loghain would have none of it. They were forced to duel and the Warden won. The Landsmeet then hinged on her decision... she could either accept Loghain's surrender or execute him on the spot."

Leliana gasped, eyes wide and riveted on the mage.

Wynne paused, as if expecting further comment or question from the bard. When none came, she continued, "The Warden chose to spare the traitor." The severe disapproval was evident in her tone. "Alistair, of course, was quite taken aback and upset. That Orlesian Grey Warden didn't help matters by suggesting making Loghain a Grey Warden as well. Our _fearless leader _seized on that idea and she and Alistair fought over it."

The mage crossed her arms and glared at the elf's back with narrowed eyes. The bard shot Kallian a sympathetic look. The Warden missed both entirely because her gaze had suddenly fixated on a small, brown satchel that lay on the floor by the far wall, positioned as if it might have been hurled against the stones and then fell, abandoned.

"The Warden," continued the healer, "decided that it was worth the risk to spare Loghain's life and have him go through the Grey Wardens' Joining ritual. Alistair, understandably, refused to be a part of what he thought was a travesty to the order. At that point, Queen Anora wanted to have him executed."

"What?" exclaimed Leliana.

"Yes," Wynne said, "because he would be a threat to the Crown. Kallian stepped in and defended him, of course. But Anora still made Alistair renounce all claim to the throne and banished him into exile."

Kallian slowly walked towards the fallen satchel, seemingly mesmorized by its odd presence on the floor.

"So," ventured the bard, "what happens now?"

"I don't rightly know," Wynne sighed. "Alistair is gone, obviously, and not coming back. Loghain is somewhere in this estate undergoing his induction ceremony." A hint of a sneer crossed her face. "_If_ he survives it, I suppose that means he'll be taking Alistair's place in the party."

The Warden slowly crouched down and plucked up the satchel. With trembling fingers, she untied the strings that fastened its top. She held her breath and put her palm out, carefully pouring the contents of the brown purse into her open hand. Out tumbled a small collection of bone, wood, and stone figurines: a black demon, a white dragon, a brown soldier, and a few square runestones, among others. Kallian's mind painfully wandered back to the time in camp after retrieving a pinch of Andraste's holy ashes.

_"Is that for me?" Alistair asked, disbelief evident in his voice. "Really? Wow, just... wow!" He took the offered gift from Kallian and stared, utterly fascinated, at the small warrior carving. It was fashioned out of a dark-colored wood - perhaps from a cherry tree - and coated in some type of glossy preservative that gave it a slippery feel in his hand. It shined in the light cast by the campfire. The little warrior stood ready in a combative stance, its right arm arched back and ready to release the long spear it held. It would go perfectly with the bone dragon statuette she had found for him back in Redcliffe. "Where did you find this?" he breathed, feeling both grateful and excited._

_Kallian smirked and arched an eyebrow at her fellow Grey Warden. "Do you really wanna know?" she asked._

_Alistair shot her a confused look. Not necessarily an uncommon expression for him, but it seemed to make her giggle in a good way anyhow. "Ye-e-e-es," he drew out, "I'm curious."_

_"You really, really wanna know?" Kallian teased. "Are you sure? 'Tis not very pleasant."_

_Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "Well, now I'm not so sure," he drawled. "But the curiosity will simply kill me if you don't."_

_The Warden paused for dramatic effect. Then, she leaned towards Alistair, looked carefully left and right, and whispered, "Found it in a pile of dragon filth back in the caverns."_

_"Ee-e-e-e-e-e-w-w-w-w!" he shouted, suddenly rearing back from her and looking squeamish. "You got this out of a pile of dragon poo?" he demanded incredulously, face screwed up in exaggerated disgust._

_"It wasn't necessarily poo," she explained. "Looked a bit more like dragon vomit, maybe..."_

_"Ee-e-e-e-e-e-w-w-w-w!" _

_She shrugged, secretly trying so hard not to laugh at Alistair's utterly horrified expression. "I washed it off really good."_

_"Ee-e-e-e-e-e-w-w-w-w!" _

_"Oh, don't be such a baby!" she scolded. "I'll take it back if you don't want it."_

_Alistair quickly closed his hand around the figurine and drew it protectively close to his chest. "I never said I didn't want it," he clarified. "It's just a little... disturbing... the places you go looting sometimes." He paused. "What __**were**__ you doing digging through dragon poo-"_

_"-vomit," she interrupted._

_"-dragon refuse anyway?" he finished._

_"I saw something shiny," she said simply. "You know how I am, Alistair. Easily distracted by bright, shiny objects."_

_"It's why we get along so well together, you know," he chuckled. "We're Kal and Al, the Easily Amused Duo."_

_Kallian laughed and held her fist out to him. "Grey Warden Wonder Twins!"_

_Alistair smiled, formed a matching fist, and bumped his knuckles against hers. Then, his face went back to a serious look. "But you really did clean this up, right?"_

_"Yes!" she shouted in a pseudo-exasperated tone. "I even washed my hands afterwards and everything." She held both palms up for inspection._

_"Good," he nodded, "because I distinctly remember you handing me a health poultice shortly after that and if I ever find out that you were the cause of me drinking bits of dragon poo-"_

_"-vomit."_

_"-dragon bodily expulsions, I will have to hurt you," he finished, his tone half-serious and half-teasing. But his eyes sparkled with the meaning her gift held for him._

The Warden blinked her eyes and returned to the present, looking down at her hand sadly. These were the gifts Kallian had given Alistair over the course of their adventures; the statuettes he had so adored and that she had occasionally stumbled upon him playing with when he thought no one else was around. Kallian gulped heavily and felt something deep inside her wither away. Powerless to stop herself, she fell back on her bottom. The carved figures tumbled to the floor between her legs and she started to cry, head buried in her shaking hands.

Leliana rushed forward and kneeled on the floor beside the Warden. She wrapped her arms around the elf and gently began rockering her back and forth. Kallian grabbed onto the bard tightly, as if a sudden hole might open up and suck her into the ground otherwise. The Orlesian stroked her copper hair, trying her best to comfort her friend. "Shhh.." she cooed. "I know it hurts, but mercy is never the wrong choice. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"Alistair doesn't get a second chance," wailed Kallian between racking sobs. "And it's all my fault. It's _my_ fault." She breathed far too rapidly, almost hyper-ventilating in her grief. "And it could very well be all for nought," she moaned miserably. "Loghain may not even survive the Joining, and then it will have all been for nothing: I will have killed him anyway and Alistair will be gone for no reason at all! I've betrayed my closest friend..."

"You did what you thought was right," Leliana affirmed. She held the Warden back, looked her straight in the eyes, and lightly shook her shoulders. "I know this and I do _not_ blame you for it." Neither one noticed Wynne cast her eyes down to the floor, looking a bit guilty.

"What good does that do?" Kallian bawled, her eyes bloodshot and nose starting to drip in a rather undignified manner. "I'm sure Loghain probably did what _he_ thought was right, too, and look where that got everyone!" The bard had nothing in reply to that and settled for cradling the Warden as she sobbed miserably into Leliana's shoulder. Wynne stood back from the scene, watching but seeming conflicted about how she felt concerning the sudden turn of events.

At that moment, a male voice interrupted the Warden's anguish with a piercing scream that drifted into the room from the other wing of the estate. Wynne and Leliana both jumped and exchanged a concerned glance. Kallian's sobs intensified. "See?" she keened. "I've damned him just as I've damned Alistair. Maker's breath, how did it all go so wrong? How did I screw this up so badly?" Aside from her hiccuping sobs, the elf fell silent then and became lost in her bleak thoughts. The sounds of shuffling feet and muffled voices carried down the hallway. It was impossible to make out what they were saying.

After what felt like ages, a soft rapping came to the door. Wynne walked over and opened it, revealing a pale and shaken Anora. The queen stood in the threshold, wringing a damp cloth in her hands nervously, and looked unsure if she was intruding on a private moment. Kallian sniffed and wiped a sleeve under her snotty nose, trying to make herself looking passingly presentable. She and Leliana stood and faced her, though the elf stayed rooted to her spot. If she tried to walk forward, she was sure she'd pass out. The bard, in her seemingly infinite ability to read body language perfectly, remained at the Warden's side for support.

Anora locked eyes with Kallian and smiled. "My father lives," she happily announced, "thanks to you, Warden." She bowed her head briefly. "He is taking some time to recover, but he is a Grey Warden now." Kallian slowly nodded her head, a slightly dazed look in her eyes. Anora's brow furrowed a bit in concern. "You _will_ come and see him shortly, Warden, yes? My father is going to need _your_ help now."

The Warden nodded her head again. "Yes," she answered hoarsely, inwardly cringing at the way her voice cracked. "I will be in soon. I just need a few moments."

The queen lightly bowed her head again and left. Wynne shut the door quietly behind her. Kallian stood for a few moments thereafter, staring blankly at the door, her mind reeling. She had no idea how to feel at the moment. Should she be happy Loghain survived the Joining? Would that somehow defile Alistair's memory and make her a horrible person? Should she instead be angry that the darkspawn blood had failed to kill him? Was she a horrible person anyway for even_ having _that thought, however briefly? She didn't know. Everything felt unreal. Alistair was gone and now she was responsible for taking care of and teaching a brand new Grey Warden, when she hardly knew a thing about being a Grey Warden herself. Overwhelmed, Kallian covered her face with her hands and tried to focus on not hyper-ventilating. The effort failed spectacularly and the elf found herself racked with sobbing cries again.

Suddenly, someone pounded loudly on the door. Leliana and Wynne exchanged a confused glance, then the mage stepped forward and opened the door once more. Morrigan stormed in and came to a halt just in front of the crying Warden. She stared at the elf for a moment, eyebrows furrowed and face scowling. Without warning, she slapped Kallian so hard that the elf's head shot to the right and her eyes suddenly went wide. An angry, red welt immediately began to spread across her left cheek. The Warden looked back at Morrigan, a mixture of astonishment and annoyance on her face.

"Do not give me that look, Warden," Morrigan firmly intoned. "Somebody needed to snap you out of this pathetic pity party you're throwing for yourself."

Kallian stared at the mage, scandalized.

"Oh, please," Morrigan continued, placing her hands on her hips. "We can all hear your sobbing throughout the entire estate and, honestly, it's a bit embarrassing." The Warden's neck and ears flushed at that bit of news. "And despite my feelings that this entire situation is a _vast _improvement over what we had before," the mage opined, "the fact remains that you now have a very competent general in our party. Someone who, at this very moment, would probably benefit from you at least going in and welcoming him to our ranks. After all, time is of the essence and I'm sure you have all sorts of Grey Warden secrets you need to relay to him before we get underway."

The elf continued to stare at Morrigan in an irritated fashion, but her mind chewed on the apostate's words. She was right enough, after all. Sitting in this room crying wasn't doing anyone any good at all. She certainly didn't feel much better for it, although getting a bit of the overwhelming emotions out of her system had to be a good thing, right? At any rate, falling apart now after having come so far and still having so far yet to go was not exactly the best option. _Time to put the big girl panties on again, Kal, _she thought wryly with an amused smirk, then forced her sadness down into a deep place for the time-being. Morrigan seemed to take the Warden's subtle mood shift as an improvement, raising an eyebrow and smirking back herself.

"Yes," Kallian replied, "you're right, of course. I need to go see our Grey Warden rookie and no amount of stalling is going to change that fact, is it?"

Morrigan enlarged her smirk and bowed out of the Warden's way. Kallian left the three and made her way to the other wing of the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. Both doors in that hallway were closed. Her sensitive elven ears picked up, very faintly, the familiar Antivan lilt of Zevran dancing underneath the door of the first room, where most of the party usually gathered. Turning to head towards the other room, she spotted Riordan leaning against the wall opposite the other closed door, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He inclined his head towards her in welcome.

"How is he?" she asked as she closed the distance and stood before the senior Grey Warden.

The Orlesian grinned. "About as well as you can imagine, I suppose." He shrugged. "I gave him the shortened version of the effects of our... condition. He seemed accepting of it."

"Well," she countered, "he hardly had a choice, did he?"

Riordan chuckled lightly, "Isn't that how a lot of us end up joining?" The elf shared an ironic chuckle with him.

"Any word on the Archdemon?" she asked, suddenly turning serious. "I saw it right after my Joining. Was he able to see where it was?"

The other Warden furrowed his brow and shook his head. "He definitely saw something, I think, judging by how he cried out. But he hasn't said a word about what he saw since he awoke." He paused for a moment, then asked, "So, what do you intend to do now?"

Kallian thought for a moment. "Well," she said, "I have army commitments from the Dalish, the mages, the dwarves, and Arl Eamon's men in Redcliffe, but none of them have any marching orders. Since it seems the Archdemon has not made a move to the surface yet itself, my plan was to head south from here and loop around Lake Calenhad. I can gather the armies that way, have them all muster in Redcliffe. That city has always been a principal foothold in Ferelden for its location and I feel the darkspawn in the south will make their first concerted movement in that direction."

"How long should that take you?"

"With the actual hard part out of the way - which was just getting the commitments themselves - we shouldn't be longer than six months time before reaching Redcliffe. If I feel the Archdemon make its move before then, we'll make all due haste to Redcliffe and hope that what armies we've already gathered will be enough."

Riordan nodded. "Agreed. I will rendezvous with you and your armies in Redcliffe in six months, unless I feel the Archdemon shorten that timespan."

"Wait," Kallian balked. "You're not coming with us?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I need to scout the Archdemon's movements."

The elf stared at him in shock. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," he said, "but I have a feeling it is a while yet before it is ready to make its move up."

She looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet a bit in uncertainty. "I was rather hoping you'd stick around and help us become better Grey Wardens."

"My dear, you seem to have caught the gist of it well enough," Riordan chuckled. "You can take it from here." He stood up straight, then bowed slightly. "Now, seeing as you have a new recruit to take charge of, I shall take my leave of you and continue with my original mission."

"Good luck."

"To you as well," he replied. They shook hands, then Riordan left.

* * *

Kallian softly and slowly opened the door, lightly knocking as she did so to announce her presence. Ser Cauthrien walked up to her, smiling brightly, and gently closed the door behind her. The elf noticed Loghain sitting in the chair facing the fireplace, where a small fire crackled lightly and cast reflections off his shining armor, rubbing his temple with one hand in contemplation. Anora sat nearby, trying to give him his space, but after a moment she leaned towards him and began whispering. Neither one seemed to notice the Warden's entrance. She stayed just inside the doorframe, feeling like an intruder, but she couldn't help but overhear snippets of their hushed conversation.

"... I don't trust the Warden's mage..."

"... I'm fine, Anora..."

"... the look on her face when she was asked to heal you..."

"... I said I'm fine..."

"... at least let me clean the blood off your armor..."

Anora leaned further towards her father with the damp rag she'd had in hand earlier. Loghain gently but firmly pushed her away. The Queen put a hand on her hip and lightly scolded, "What would mother have thought, me sending you out the door looking like this?"

Loghain turned to look in Anora's direction, but Kallian was at a bad angle to see his expression. She remained by the door for a moment longer, not wanting to interrupt the intimate family moment. The queen looked up, however, and saw the elf standing there and beckoned her forward.

"The Warden is here to see you, father," she announced as Kallian walked up and stood before them.

Loghain looked up at her with unreadable eyes that gazed right through her at first, still seemingly lost in thought . Kallian cringed inwardly, having felt just like how he looked not mere moments ago herself - consumed by rampaging inner demons. She cleared her throat and said, rather half-heartedly, "It's good to see you survived the Joining."

He grunted in response, but his eyes re-focused and Loghain glared up at her as if she were the cause of all the world's problems. The purple bags under his eyes really stood out against the paleness in his face. Kallian almost found herself feeling sorry for him, knowing that he would find no better sleep now that he was a Grey Warden. "We should get moving as soon as possible," he rasped, his throat still sore and a bit inflamed from swallowing the darkspawn blood.

"I agree." Kallian nodded, then looked back and forth between father and daughter. "Say your goodbyes. Pack whatever provisions you feel you'll need. We'll probably be on the road six months or so before we end up in Redcliffe. We'll be waiting for you at the estate's front gates momentarily."

Loghain nodded. The Warden turned on her heels and headed for the door. Ser Cauthrien followed her out, carefully shutting the door behind them. Just as Kallian began to walk briskly back to her own quarters, Cauthrien grabbed ahold of her elbow. The elf stopped and turned back to face her, a surprised expression on her features.

"I just wanted to thank you," Cauthrien said with an honest and genuine quality to her tone, "for sparing him." Kallian started to wave her off, but she pressed forward. "I know you didn't have to and that you had every reason..." she glanced at the elf's pointed ears... "especially personal reasons, to execute him on the spot. But you didn't. That speaks volumes about your honor, and I apologize for my besmirching words earlier, Warden." Cauthrien looked at her expectantly.

Kallian nodded and gave her a small smile. "Apology accepted."

Cauthrien grinned widely. Then, in a hushed tone, she said, "Loghain was always a good commander to us. To me." She sighed longingly. "Please try to be good to him, now that you are his commander. I know he is ten times capable of taking care of himself, but... look after him, won't you?"

"I'll do my best to return him in one piece, eh?" the Warden chuckled. "It's the best I can offer you."

Ser Cauthrien smiled sadly in return. "That'll have to do, I guess. Luck be to you, Warden."

* * *

Author's Note, Part Deux: Please review, if at all possible, and let me know if it still sucks, has now started to suck, has improved from previous suckage, or is still rocking on hard and heavy! And as before, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

Kallian's Breakdown was brought to you equally by "Adia" and "Do What You Have To Do" by Sarah McLachlan and "My Immortal" by Evanescence


	3. Not the Warmest Welcome

Thank you again, **Phaonica**, for being my awesome beta reader. And thank you to all my wonderful reviewers: **Eva Galana, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Gene Dark, jackkel dragon, **and **Shakespira**

* * *

It was a little past midday when Kallian put the party on a swift pace south from Denerim. Despite the nice luxury of sleeping indoors the past few days, she wanted to put the city as far out of her mind as possible and the only real way to do so was by leaving as soon as Loghain had recovered from the Joining and prepared for a life on the road again. Otherwise, they'd stuck around only long enough for Anora to see her father off for what was, potentially, the very last time.

That city had caused her more grief than it was worth, in the Warden's mind. Its Alienage district had been her birthplace and home for so many years - and yet the vengeful actions of one night over a year ago had led to its purging. So many homes burned to the ground as a lesson against rebellion that it was amazing how many buildings actually still remained. That had been directly her fault and her mixed homecoming and Soris's uncharacteristic bitterness beat that into her quite sufficiently. And then there had been the underhanded dealings with Tevinter, seeing friends, neighbors, and family nearly shipped off as slaves - and hearing about those for whom she'd arrived too late to rescue - and _that_ had been directly Loghain's fault.

_Loghain, _she mentally seethed. The Warden glanced back briefly over her shoulder where her year-long enemy brought up the rear of the group, flanked watchfully by Sten and Zevran. The royal district of Denerim had housed him all this time as he sent out assassins and Andraste-knows-what-else to harry her every step of the way. One stubborn act of mercy - that one practical decision not to execute him on the spot - had driven Alistair from her group.

Alistair, who was banished from Ferelden and whose part in stopping the Blight was now done. Alistair, who had been her closest friend and like a brother this past year. Alistair, whose only bit of family left resided in Denerim and scorned the very ground he walked on. _He deserved none of this, _she lamented, _yet I brought it upon him anyway. It may have been his childish decision to act the way he did, but I caused it. Whatever happens to him out there, it's my fault. I pushed him to this. _The satchel of figurines she had once given him weighed heavily in her pack, not from physical weight but from the burden of his memory. She was determined to keep at least something of his close to always remind her of her friend. She wondered if he still kept Duncan's shield with him even now. _Probably so, _she thought. _Duncan was a saint to him, after all._

She glared back in Loghain's direction again. "You had better be worth all this, dammit," she growled under her breath, then turned back forward and spat on the ground as they exited Denerim's city gates. "And piss on you, Denerim. Hope I never set foot back in this forsaken place again."

They made good time on the road south. Conversations were brief and muted, and Kallian was rather grateful that her companions had enough good sense to leave her alone with her thoughts. Her feelings were rather raw and on edge at the moment. She honestly feared a repeat of her earlier breakdown, when the sudden and rather unexpected loss of Alistair left her weeping in the consoling arms of Leliana. She had been grateful for her presence and even more grateful that most of the others were still scattered elsewhere in the estate after the Landsmeet. It had not been a moment of dignity in the slightest; it had, rather, been one of her more embarrassing moments and certainly her most pathetic display of emotion since becoming a Grey Warden. After all, she was pretty sure Wardens were not supposed to be blubbering in snotty-nosed, incoherent sorrow over anything. She felt her neck and ears grow hot and uncomfortable at the memory of it, the shame of her momentary weakness.

No, as a Warden, her place _should_ have been at Riordan's side as Loghain endured the Joining. She _should_ have been there to recite the Joining chant, _should_ have been there to see the consequences of her decision, _should _have been there to face either Loghain's death or his rebirth. But she had not. She had childishly and selfishly been off seeking the comfort of her like-minded female companions, only knew what had happened across the hall when Anora came to report the news. Kallian clenched her fists at her sides and furrowed her brow. She would not allow herself to drop to that level again. She needed to be the Fearless Leader that Zevran and many of the others had half-lovingly, half-jokingly entitled her.

Instead, the Warden choked down any more tears she felt may betray her and turned her focus onto the current plan. Her alliances with the mages, the dwarves, and the Dalish had been established. Much time had passed since invoking the final treaty and attending the Landsmeet. Surely that had been enough time for all three groups to have sufficiently recovered from their individual crises: time enough for Orzammar politics to re-establish order from the kingless anarchy that had temporarily reigned, time enough for the mages to have regrouped from the tower's internal sundering, and time enough for the injured Dalish to have recovered and started gathering their fellow clans into a more cohesive unit. It was time now, by Kallian's reckoning, to gather the army to Redcliffe.

As sundown approached, Kallian brought the group to a halt in a nice clearing that was far away enough from the road to avoid detection, but not too difficult to get to considering the general forestation surrounding it on almost all sides. And as the companions fell into their usual evening routines, each performing a very specific task unspokenly, it was quite obvious Loghain was not yet considered one of them and was also just as obviously the lowest man in the rankings. He stood in the middle of the clearing looking a bit lost, watching as everyone performed their tasks but none asking for his help or even offering to give him something to do, some small role to play so that he wouldn't stand there feeling awkward and useless.

Morrigan and Leliana searched the bordering bushes and undergrowth for useful cooking and potion-making ingredients. Sten rolled a few fallen logs into the center of the clearing to serve as fireside seats before heading off into the woods to gather firewood for the night. Wynne walked around collecting any clothes or blankets that needed mending, giving an obvious cold shoulder to Loghain and any needs he might have. He tried to engage himself in tent-pitching with Oghren - who was obviously having a difficult time of it given his height and his almost constant inebriation - but the dwarf brushed him off rather brusquely, grumbling something about not needing anymore sodding hands to mangle up the tents. The only party member to pay him any attention was Zevran, who offered to add Loghain's longsword to the pile of weapons he was collecting to sharpen later. The newest Grey Warden nodded his head once in thanks, but declined. Zevran left him alone after that, going over to lend his hand to Oghren, who, Loghain noted without any surprise, did not turn away the elf's help. The Warden herself had disappeared entirely, presumably to lay traps outside the camp or to hunt up some small game for supper.

That left the Mabari, whose name Loghain did not even know. Despite the unfamiliarity, the hound approached him and sat down by his legs. As if sensing the man's loss of place - for any canine has, at one point or another, gone through the discomfort and anxiety of not knowing one's place within an already-established pack - the dog looked up at his newest pack member and whined his condolences. Loghain looked down at the animal, a hint of a forlorn smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and patted the hound lightly on the head. The dog barked happily up at him, then turned around and abuptly bounded off into the woods. Loghain cocked his head, perplexed, and stared at the place the Mabari had disappeared so suddenly.

"Hmph!" Wynne blurted out from her seat, looking up from her sewing. "Bet you're just overjoyed the Warden spared your miserable life, Loghain Mac Tir. Even the dog has enough sense not to stay around you for long."

He narrowed his eyes and shot her an ugly look in response.

Moments later, the warhound came crashing through the underbrush and galloping back into view. He had a sizeable tree branch clutched between his teeth. He slowed down as he neared Loghain and pranced the last bit of distance before dropping the stick at the man's feet. He barked once, spun a few excited circles, then barked again, standing there with his rump shaking and gazing up at the warrior with big, brown eyes.

"Wow!" remarked Leliana. She was stoking the fire Sten had just started with the gathered firewood, trying to urge it on beneath the suspended cooking pot. "You ought to feel honored, Loghain. I've not seen Daveth warm up to anyone so quickly. I even gave him puppy treats when I first joined, and it still took a few days before he wanted anything to do with me if I didn't have any food on me." She chuckled lightly.

As if to emphasize the bard's point, the Mabari flopped over onto his back and wriggled and rolled around happily. His large tongue hung absurdly upside-down out of his mouth as he presented his belly to Loghain, acting perfectly submissive to someone he'd been around for less than a full day. Wynne glared first at Leliana, then at Daveth, looking utterly betrayed by them both. Loghain simply smiled smugly in her direction, then crouched down to rub the warhound's stomach.

"Is that right, Daveth?" he asked the dog in a soft voice. "I guess it takes a savage beast to soothe one, eh?" he asked. Leliana giggled. Wynne practically glared daggers in his direction. Loghain gave the animal a half-smirk and whispered, "Guess we'll have to wait and see if your master will be as quick to welcome me as you are."

Daveth grunted a few times, as if to say he wasn't sure how his master would react. However, he was quickly distracted again when Loghain scooped up the stick, stood back up, and threw it. The dog took off after it, barking happily. Despite himself and all that had befallen him that day, Loghain found himself chuckling and smiling. After a good hour or so of playing fetch, the Mabari plopped down at Loghain's feet and spread out on his side, panting rapidly but looking completely satisfied.

Kallian returned then with a pair of rabbits in either hand. The dog left Loghain's side and bounded up to her in excitement, wagging his nub of a tail - which, by nature, meant he ended up wagging his entire hindquarters. She looked up from the animal to see Loghain standing in the exact same spot Alistair usually took up whenever the fire was roaring along nicely, like it was now. There was no way for Loghain to realize this, of course, and she also knew it was rather unfair of her to feel a new wave of bitterness wash over her. But all the same, there was a gaping, Alistair-sized hole in her camp and seeing Loghain standing there was like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. It left the taste of iron in her mouth as she bit down on her tongue to keep the rage inside.

Zevran seemed to sense the sudden drop in emotional temperature. He approached the Warden carefully and offered to take the rabbits and clean them. She was happy to pass the burden off to someone else. There was too much that had been left unsaid since Loghain's Joining and it seemed the time had come to hash them out, for the sake of everyone's sanity. Kallian strode over to their newest member, her shoulders squared and her steps heavy with purpose. Then the others picked up on the silent change in atmosphere and, although they busied themselves with random tasks, the corner of Kallian's eye caught them glancing her way when they thought she wasn't looking. Even Morrigan, who always retreated to her lone end of the camp as soon as possible, seemed intent upon "helping" Leliana cut up and dice vegetables for the stew. The Warden inwardly smirked. _If it's a confrontation they want, they may as well pull up a seat, _she thought.

Loghain shifted his stance a bit as the Warden approached him, standing up tall, shoulders set and squared, hands behind him and laid against his lower back in a military parade-rest fashion. "I passed your test," he drawled. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor, it seems. I suppose you think I'm some sort of monster, moreso because I survived your ritual. You just keep striking at me and I just refuse to die decently." The ghost of a smirk flashed across his lips as he glared down at the elf, countenance still prideful in spite of his recent fall from grace.

Kallian raised an eyebrow at him, annoyance clearly written across her face. "Well, you certainly didn't get your apparent short-term memory loss from the ritual," she snorted, hoping she sounded as snotty out loud as she did inside her own head. "As I clearly recall, you weren't exactly far from death today." She narrowed her eyes. "And as you'll also recall, you've been striking at me a bit more vigorously and I, too, have refused to die upon your hired blades... or your own, as the Landsmeet proved." As for his earlier assumption, she was momentarily unsure how to address it or if she should even address it at all. She certainly held no love for Loghain, but to go so far as to call him a monster, a mindless beast cut from the same cloth as the darkspawn? She glanced down at her feet for a moment, unsure, then looked back up and said, in a slightly less snotty tone, "And if that makes you a monster, Loghain, then I suppose it makes me one, too. So, no, I don't necessarily think you're a monster." _Perhaps this can be kept civil and pleasant after all? _she wondered.

He barked a rather rough-sounding laugh at that. "You're a poor liar, you know," he observed, but the look in his eyes softened ever so slightly as he continued, "It's... kind... of you to say so, all the same." He paused for a moment before the glare returned. "We must settle things between us somehow or neither of us will get any work done."

Kallian nodded. "On that, we can most definitely agree."

"So," he asked, "what will it be?"

The Warden crinkled her forehead in thought. _Where to begin? _she wondered. There was a whole year's worth of pain, angst, and worry and an awful lot of it stemmed from this very man standing before her. From mysteriously quitting the field at Ostagar to the sudden slave trade in the Alienage to his continued breathing causing Alistair to completely walk out of her life forever, there was just too much water under the bridge to honestly drain it back down all in one conversation. So, she resolved to start with the most personally painful issues first. Kallian looked back down again, summoning the willpower to refrain from crying, no matter how uncontrollable the urge felt. There was no way she could show any more weakness in front of this man - for his sake in trusting Ferelden would be better served by her authority instead of his, and for her own sake in not feeling like, and probably looking like, a complete sodding wreck of a leader. Although sadness did creep into her eyes, when she looked back up and locked her gaze with him, no hint of tears shone in their brown depths. "You cost me Alistair, you know," she said ruefully.

"Yes, well, you can thank me for that later," he sarcastically replied.

The slap occurred so quickly and so unexpectedly that Kallian surprised even herself. One moment, she had been levelling with Loghain. In the next, she had smacked him so hard and so fiercely that a painfully red, hand-shaped welt immediately began to spread across his cheek. She heard Oghren suddenly choke on his home-brewed ale off to her right and could have sworn she saw, from the corner of her eye, Morrigan and Zevran inch closer to the scene as if enthralled by the prospect of an impending knock-down drag-out.

Loghain opened his eyes and blinked a few times, then took on an almost excited expression. His eyes glinted savagely, much like they had during their duel at the Landsmeet. "Ah, now _there's_ the venom I expected!" he announced, sounding rather triumphant about it. "Well, is that it?"

"Fine!" she shouted, narrowing her eyes at him. "I may not think you a monster, but I certainly do not _like_ you. And if I despise you, it's because you damn well deserve it." She crossed her arms defensively.

"Surely you have more to say to me than that?" he baited. "I've heard the Alienage speaks profanity as a native tongue. Feel free to indulge yourself."

Kallian's face twisted up in malice. He looked entirely too self-satisfied about goading her into another confrontation for her tastes. "You want me to call you names?" she spat. "How about this one: slaver." She wasn't entirely surprised to hear him laugh in response. _Apparently, _she inwardly boiled, _only Zevran and I give a damn about that._

"Do you honestly think that among all my crimes, _that_ is the one that keeps me awake at night?" Loghain sneered. "The plight of a few dozen elves - in the face of all the hundreds that died at Ostagar, the countless others fighting the civil war that followed - seems irrelevant."

The Warden balked a bit. When put in that perspective, perhaps. But the Alienage was her home, filled with family and friends. It was personal for her. "Irrelevant?" she yelled. "You hypocritical shem _bastard! _Did you not yourself suffer a good portion of your life under a type of slavery when the Orlesians held their heels against your throats not that long ago? Are we so unimportant and insignificant to you shems just because our sodding ears look different?" She angrily thrusted a pointed finger against Loghain's plated chest. "You think other people suffered, so the elves don't matter?"

"Hear, hear!" Zevran cheered from the sidelines, pumping a fist in the air.

"I think that their suffering, while real enough," Loghain explained, dutifully ignoring their rapt audience, "is a drop in the ocean now."

"A drop in the ocean? You sold free people to Tevinter! To blood mages!" Kallian shot back, breathing as rapidly as an enraged bull. "Who will probably use them as... as sacrificial lambs for their perverted magic! And you're _justifying _this? Are you _kidding_ me?"

He continued, raising his voice slightly, "A people, might I remind you, who would be no more free than the rest of us if I hadn't driven Orlais out of Ferelden."

She stared at him in open disgust. "So because you defeated Orlais, you suddenly have some claim of ownership over Ferelden's elves? They owe you, so you can do with them as you please? Is that _really_ what you just said to me?"

"I said no such thing, Warden," Loghain growled, his own temper beginning to fray around the edges.

"You bloody well implied it!" she screeched, her face glowing bright red and a few, stray bits of spittle flying from her mouth like a rabid dog. "Those are _my_ people, Loghain! My neighbors, my friends... my own _father_ almost got hauled off by the _pigs_ you let in with your _blessing!_" She visibly shook with her rage, looking mere moments away from pouncing on Loghain and beating him to within an inch of his life.

This was not lost on Loghain, who was prudent enough to take a step back. He was also rather grateful that he had not yet shed his armor for the evening like the rest of the group. Judging from her looks and stance, he was fairly certain the Warden would've kneed him in the groin by now otherwise. "And because you stopped it," he continued, forcing himself to speak in a calm, even voice, "the army we have to face the Blight is a third the size it should be. And many more elves wait in _your _Alienage, defenseless, for the darkspawn to reach them. Which fate is worse, I wonder? To live as a slave or to die without hope in the Alienage?"

Kallian turned her back on him, still shaking but at a momentary loss for words. She utterly hated herself for it - and by Andraste, it seemed an easier solution to just hate him rather than admit he had a grim but solid argument with that last bit - but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't concede that he had a valid point. A nasty, dirty one that made her want to either gut him or gut herself and be done with it all, but a point nonetheless. Despicable though Loghain's solution had been, the Alienage was certainly the most run-down and indefensible part of Denerim and, without any weapons allowed, they'd have nothing to defend themselves against the darkspawn. However, cold, heartless logic was not what she wished to hear at the moment, so she pushed forward in spite of it. "You really have no conscience, do you?" she seethed, her back still to him, hands balled up into fists of rage that trembled by her sides.

"Of course not, I'm a soldier," replied Loghain in a matter-of-fact tone. "Conscience has no place in war. Got people out of the most indefensible part of the city and put money in the coffers at the same time. The whole _kingdom_ is about to be lost; what does principle matter now?"

"You're a murderer."

"Is that the best you have?" he scoffed. "Disappointing. It doesn't even offend me because it happens to be true. I've killed enough men now with my own hands or by command that they're beyond counting. I daresay we're not so different on that front, are we, Warden? Or are you too stubborn and blind to admit that?"

"You know what I'm referring to, Loghain," she hissed, spinning back around to face him. "You're a traitor and a coward!" That accusation caused Wynne to suddenly manifest into view from off to her left.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "By all means, tell me again how I _murdered _Cailan." He crossed his arms defiantly and defensively across his chest as he continued, "I find the topic inexhaustibly fascinating. There is no possibility, of course, that Cailan's poor judgement in leading the charge - _against my advice _- caused his death. Because he fell in battle, his part in the massacre at Ostagar must be excused? And because I survived, all responsibility must fall to me?"

Kallian opened her mouth to respond, but found no logical argument forthcoming. She had been present at the strategy meeting that night at Ostagar. She had heard, with her own ears, Loghain ask the king not to be on the front lines. Cailan had shot him down, choosing what he felt would be glory alongside the doomed Grey Wardens. She closed her mouth, grunting in frustration. "You left us to die," she growled. "You had a job to do and you _abandoned_ us."

Loghain shot her a narrowed, deadly glare. "You had a job, too, as I recall, and you failed miserably at it."

And that was when things momentarily spiraled out of control. Kallian lunged at Loghain, swinging both fists wildly. One punch managed to connect with his jaw impressively hard before everyone else in camp swarmed into the middle of the scene to break it up. For several moments there was nothing short of pure pandemonium as several bodies and sets of limbs tried to re-establish order. Almost as quickly as it had started, the chaos passed when Sten finally managed to grab the Warden, kicking and screaming, and held her gently but firmly in place by the shoulders.

"The tower was overrun with darkspawn!" the Warden shouted defensively, straining forward in the qunari's grasp. "A tower that _your_ men were supposed to be guarding, might I add! The beacon was lit as soon as we could cut a path through the horde."

"But it was too late!" he countered. "The darkspawn had overridden the field by then. The battle was _over_." He absently wiped a bit of blood off his lower lip from where the Warden's punch had landed.

"How do you know that?" she pressed. "Wasn't the entire point of the beacon to signal your charge? If you could tell when the pivitol moment had passed, then why didn't you just go ahead and charge before then? Why wait for a signal at all?"

"You forget, girl, that I have been waging war for longer than you've been alive," Loghain answered, his tone low and deadly. "Judging the precise moment to close the trap and strike is not quite so easy as realizing when the battle is hopelessly lost. Would you have rather I led my battalion into the slaughter? Instead of salvaging at least part of the king's army, would all of us dying together have made you feel better, spared your _feelings_?"

Kallian felt at a loss for words. She looked down at her feet, unsure of how to feel about Loghain's perspective on Ostagar. She had, after all, had a very limited viewpoint throughout the battle and didn't even know of the retreat until long after it had ended. But if he was truly right and she was simply allowing her own emotions to get in the way of seeing that, she wasn't sure she had the strength at the present moment to comprehend it, much less acknowledge it.

"But the_ truth _of things hardly matters now," Loghain continued, satisfied with her silence. "You've won. You can decide whatever you like about my guilt." His face twisted up in disgust as he pressed on. "And now what? Am I to be some trophy of your victory? A defeated enemy you drag about on a leash wherever you go? Or have you some worse fate in mind for me?" With that, his proud shoulders slumped a bit and he cast his eyes down for the first time since their argument had become heated.

When Kallian finally tore her gaze back up from the ground, she could scarcely believe how radical a change those few motions brought to his demeanor. He suddenly looked rather lost and apprehensive, truly beaten by his defeat from earlier in the day. Despite how angry she still felt towards Loghain, a part of her - the part that had taken pity on an old war veteran and his frightened daughter - felt awkwardly touched at the plight she knew he felt himself to now be trapped. She also felt flabbergasted at the demeaning fates he had assumed she would inflict on him. "I don't consider you a trophy," she answered honestly, voice barely more than a whisper, "nor do I intend to drag you around on some proverbial leash."

"Then I don't know what concession you want from me, Warden. I expect my word will not satisfy you."

She sighed heavily, then suggested, "Just do what I tell you to do."

"Or what?" Loghain volleyed back. "You'll kill me? Go ahead. The Joining was my death sentence anyway. It's hardly _my_ fault that it failed to produce the desired result."

Kallian shot him a horrified expression. In a sincere tone, she answered, "I wasn't expecting, nor did I want, you to die during the Joining, Loghain." He crossed his arms again and she could immediately tell he didn't believe a word from her. She sighed again and, in frustration, threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, then let's just try to avoid one another."

"I'd be delighted to," he answered, an underlying viciousness discernible in his voice. "It is, however, a small camp. We could dig a moat down the middle of it, perhaps. It'll create some difficulty finding a place to pitch a tent, I'm afraid."

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed with a flourish, completely exasperated. "Maker knows the very thing I was missing from my heroic band of super-friends was a _sarcastic bastard_." She glared at him. "Thank you ever so much, Loghain, for bravely stepping forth to fill that role."

He gave her a surly little bow, sneering all the way. "I would say the pleasure's all mine," he drawled, "but... well, there's no pleasure to be had in any of this."

She raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. "You'd rather I'd killed you instead?"

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "But we should speak no more of this at present. Time's wasting."

"I agree," sighed the Warden, pinching the bridge of her nose and feeling a headache coming on. Then, she turned to address the rest of the group. "All right, everyone, normal watch shifts resume tonight. If nobody else minds, I'm going to bed now."

She turned to head towards her tent when Leliana interrupted. "Kal?" she asked, almost sounding nervous. "Aren't you going to have some supper first?"

"I'm not hungry," she muttered, opening her tent flap and stooping down to crawl inside.

"Warden?"

The elf sighed and turned around, eyes glaring. "Yes, Loghain?" she asked between clenched teeth.

"When is my shift at watch?"

Kallian struggled to suppress a wry chuckle. Instead, she kept her tone serious and explained, "This is your first night as a Grey Warden. You may not fully comprehend what that means yet, but you will by morning's light. You're going to need all the sleep you can manage to get tonight." At his slightly offended expression, she added, "Don't worry. I'll put you on a shift tomorrow night. I'm not a _complete_ soft touch." With that, she entered her tent and was mercifully asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Author's Note: Please review, if at all possible, and let me know if it still sucks, has now started to suck, has improved from previous suckage, or is still rocking on hard and heavy! And as before, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

The Camp Confrontation was brought to you equally by "Breakdown" by Seether and "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park


	4. Of Nightmares & Early Morning Whiskey

Author's Note: Once again, major props to **Phaonica**, my beta reader. And lovely thanks to all of my reviewers: **Shakespira, Eva Galana, jackkel dragon, lilachsh, Gene Dark, Forestnymphe, Arsinoe de Blassenville, icey cold**, and **Persephone**

_

* * *

_

_"We all make mistakes, Duncan. Some of them are going to cost others dearly. What's important is that your intentions were good, and that you learn from what you've done." - King Maric Theirin, page 233 of "The Calling"_

Loghain slowly opened his eyes, then narrowed them as the dull, bothersome ache in his head returned. However, as he took a sweeping glance at his surroundings, the headache quickly became the least of his concerns. Collapsing, ruined buildings stood clustered here and there, the crumbling remains of what had once been a city. Taint-covered walls rose up from all around, stretching to a black ceiling that was not quite visible. Years of decay and blackened soot covered the ground and crumbling edifices with a fine layer of dust. This was the Deep Roads. This was Ortan Thaig.

_This makes absolutely no sense at all, _he thought. Surely this was just a dream or a memory. But it looked so _real. _There was no fuzzy, out-of-focus quality like most dreams. The air felt just as thick and oppressive as it had the last time he'd tread those endless paths. If he sniffed hard enough, Loghain could almost smell the lingering smoke from the spiderwebs they'd burned down. And when he looked down at himself, his heart nearly stopped. Fully expecting to see himself in the clothes he'd worn to bed or - in typical, dream-cliche fashion - wearing nothing but his smallclothes, he was instead greeted by the sight of his old, black leather armor. Heart now racing, he reached back over his right shoulder and, sure enough, felt his old longbow and quiver strapped across his back.

_Was_ this a dream? A flashback of some kind? If so, it was surely the most intense dream he'd ever had. But how could all his senses be lying to him so perfectly? Unless... was it possible that almost everything he'd experienced after entering the Deep Roads with Maric, Rowan, and Katriel had actually been a dream? Some perverse, long-winded vision into the potential future? He dare not think it. The implications of such a thing were too vast and, honestly, frightening to dwell on.

So Loghain did the only sensible thing he could - he started exploring his surroundings in the hopes of escaping, either by finding a way out or, hopefully, by waking up to see the interior of the tent staring back at him in welcome. One particularly familiar building caught his attention. He made his way towards it. Taking a deep breath, he peeked his head carefully inside and almost choked at the sight.

"Loghain!" called Maric happily, looking just as young as he had during the rebellion. "About time you got back here. We need to talk."

"Maric?" Loghain rasped in disbelief. "How can this be? It... it wasn't all just a dream, surely?"

The prince merely smiled back, offering no answer.

Loghain felt his heart starting to race even faster. If they truly were still in the Deep Roads and everything else had not been real, then that meant... "Where's Rowan?" he asked suddenly.

Maric frowned. "She's dead, Loghain. You know this."

"But..." he faltered, then scowled. So, this was just another dream sent to torment him.

"She was right, you know," Maric remarked, shaking his head and looking suddenly anguished. The sudden shift in mood and tone made Loghain uneasy. "That witch back in the wilds. Everything she said was true, but I didn't want to believe it. I heeded her warning about the Blight, but nothing I did helped prevent it in the end." He sighed deeply, then shot Loghain a wounded look. "And I kept you close despite it all, but even now in death you still betray me!"

"How, Maric?" Loghain shouted, instantly furious. "How, exactly, have I ever betrayed you? I kept you safe, I led your armies, I rescued you when I shouldn't have more times than I can remember!" _I gave you back the first woman I ever truly loved, _he cried silently, _the one you had foolishly thrown away. Gave her back when you needed her the most. _His gloved fists shook at his sides with barely-contained rage. "Then I stayed by your side after... after the Queen's passing... left my wife and daughter behind to help you! So, yes, do tell me just how I betrayed you?"

Maric crossed his arms defiantly across his chest and set his jaw. "Shall I count the ways, then? Fine." He uncrossed his arms and held a finger up. "Katriel was one."

"She was an Orlesian spy!" seethed Loghain.

"She loved me!" Maric shouted back. "And she had turned her back on the Orlesians the night you led me into killing her! I know this now, though apparently you didn't find it to be important enough information to relay to me at the time."

"Justice needed to be done," Loghain answered through gritted teeth. "She was responsible for us losing nearly the entire rebel army at West Hill! Rowan's father among them!"

"Gee," Maric quipped sarcastically, "that's almost nothing at all like what happened at Ostagar, is it?"

As illogical as it was to do in a dream, where nothing was truly real, Loghain punched Maric in the face. To his surprise, dream-Maric stumbled backwards a few steps and reached up to touch his bleeding lip. He glared at Loghain, who was quickly becoming increasingly unsettled by the whole situation. Maric held up a second finger. "Two," he said, "was my son."

Loghain scoffed, "Cailan was an idiot. Perhaps _you _should have raised him better, spent more time with _him_ rather than off running around with Grey Wardens." Without warning, Maric punched Loghain in return. He closed his eyes and shook his head, fully expecting the sudden pain to cause him to wake up. Instead, he found himself still looking at an angry Maric. When he tenderly reached up to his nose, Loghain's hand came away bloody. "He got _himself_ killed," he continued, scowling heavily. "He should never have been down there on the front lines, but much like you, he trusted the Grey Wardens too much on top of feeling himself invincible. Didn't you once tell me that Ferelden and its freedom were more important than any one man, including the king?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Don't lie to me," Maric spat. "You can lie to everyone else - including yourself - but don't lie to _me. _You were moving against Cailan before either of you ever headed to Ostagar."

"Have you forgotten everything we fought for, Maric? Cailan was far too friendly towards Orlais," Loghain growled. "The Orlesian chevaliers were going to be invited right back in for a second chance at occupation unless _something_ was done."

Maric shook his head, frustration clearly on his face. "You were never fond of _my_ attempts to make some kind of peace with them either. Were you planning on taking me out of the picture, too, before my ill-fated voyage took care of that?"

Loghain reeled, staring at his old friend in shock. "Maric, I never..." he sputtered. "No, that wasn't the plan. The _plan_ was to confront Cailan about it, but I never got the chance. It all started spiraling out of control..."

Maric snorted, then held up a third finger. "My other son is now exiled from Ferelden entirely, dooming the Theirin royal line completely."

"Now that," Loghain said, pointing a scolding finger, "cannot be pinned on me! He made his choice and when it backfired on him, the Warden made the final decision."

"Only because your own flesh-and-blood was going to kill him otherwise."

Loghain turned his back on Maric then and closed his eyes. It was utterly cruel, what this apparent Fade demon was obviously trying to do to him. There had to be some way to force himself awake.

"The final betrayal," Maric spoke up, his voice grave, "was delivering our country to the Blight on a silver platter."

Loghain spun back around, fire in his eyes. "What?"

"The Blight I was never intended to see..." he said sadly, recalling the witch's haunting words. "Ferelden's armies are decimated, partly from Ostagar and mostly from _your_ civil war that followed. You split our dwindling forces between guarding against a _non_-invading Orlais and sent the others to hopelessly fall upon darkspawn blades, with no Grey Wardens to aid them. Half the southern Bannorn has fallen to the darkspawn already. And yet it takes an elf forcing you to become a Grey Warden to get you to take any real action against all this?"

"The nobles had to be brought into line before I could..." Loghain started, then hung his head and remained silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "I am truly sorry, Maric. That much... I agree is my fault. I did not... _could not_... believe this was truly a Blight until it seemed too late. With nearly four legions of chevaliers at our borders, the threat of re-occupation seemed like the clear and present danger at the time." When he looked back up, Maric was looking at him sadly again.

"My poor, old friend," the late king sighed. "It seems no matter what decision you make these days, it's always the wrong one. What happened to the tactical genius I knew? The gut that never lied to you? I thought you were a better man than that?"

"You and Rowan were wrong," Loghain rasped miserably. "I have always been the lesser man. You two were just too stubborn to believe it."

Maric's apparition regarded Loghain for several drawn-out moments, expression battling between resentment, sadness, and the tempting pull of a reluctant smile. "Well," he finally said, eyebrows drawn together in a steadily resolute manner, "then I'm still too stubborn, I guess. Because despite everything, a part of me still believes you're a better man than that." He stepped forward and placed a surprisingly heavy, corporal hand on Loghain's shoulder. "I'm not particularly happy with a lot of your decisions lately... but if there is anyone made for pushing forward with the kind of grit and resolve needed to save Ferelden once again, it's you." Loghain looked up and held Maric's steady gaze, an unspoken pact passing between them. Then, with an errant smirk and a playful wave of the hand, the dead king quipped light-heartedly, "And now, not only do you have the golden opportunity of saving Ferelden one last time... you have a pretty elven girl by your side to help do it!" Maric almost doubled over with laughter. "I'm rather jealous, you know. Oh, the irony..."

Loghain opened his mouth to respond to that remark, but was cut off by a sudden, loud buzzing in the back of his head. Sharp prickles crawled up his spine and his stomach did a few somersaults while he looked around to try and find a source for his unease. Maric did the same, reacting to Loghain's alarm. The ruler looked down at his dragonbone sword and saw the runes glowing brightly blue. Loghain followed his eyes down to the blade and then the world suddenly pulsed out of focus.

Several beats later, Loghain found himself standing in the countryside, now donned in his more familiar River Dane armor. Up ahead of him stood a quaint farming village. It was overrun with darkspawn. Flames licked out of the chantry's broken windows and adorned the canvas blades of the windmill, still rotating in the breeze as if it wasn't at all consumed by fire. The acrid smell of smoke and the rancid scent of burning flesh wafted chokingly thick in the air as ash rained down light as winter's first snowflakes. Entire fields of crops were engulfed in flames, turning the horizon into a hazy sea of fire as far as the eye could see. Black, tainted mucus crawled up the charred, leafless trees and over the chantry's soot-ridden stone steps, already beginning its slow, crawling seige to corrupt the land.

"Ser! Ser! Please help us!"

He turned his head in the direction of the cry in time to see a frantic woman running towards him. Moments later, she suddenly staggered and lurched, her momentum carrying her to a flailing, falling collapse at his feet, her back riddled with black arrows. Like her, villagers scattered in all directions like ants from a destroyed colony, screaming in panic. Many were cut down on jagged, crooked, black blades. One hurlock close by gutted a young boy, then slowly licked the blade before looking up at Loghain with a bloody, horrifying smile. Loghain felt nauseated and, at the same time, completely paralyzed. The end game of this war was obvious. Unlike every other creature in Thedas, sentient or wild, that fought for freedom or family or pride or land or power or any other rational reason, the darkspawn fought for none of those things. They existed and multiplied only to kill, maim, and destroy everything they touched. _And_ _I let this happen, _he mourned._ Maker's mercy, what have I done?_

Loghain couldn't stand the sight any longer and tried to turn away, to close his eyes for at least a brief moment. However, it was impossbile to move, as if he were frozen in place. While the village continued to burn and people shrieked in terror and pain, the edges of the vision pulsed brightly again and the scene changed. Now he found himself in the Deep Roads once more, only this time he stood in the middle of a teeming horde of darkspawn filling every crevice and cavity of the dwarves' underground routes. Yet, the creatures seemed oblivious to his presence. Their focus, instead, was on a stone bridge that traversed a river of lava. The heat radiating from it was almost unbearable and Loghain could feel the sweat beginning to coat his body, tickling down his chest and the small of his back, annoyingly running into his eyes.

Then, rising above the horde on powerful wings and alighting on the stone pathway ahead, a twisted, demonic-looking dragon gazed out over its growing army. Sharp talons gripped the rock, causing smaller pebbles to tumble free and fall down into the lake of fire below. Huge wings stretched out impressively at its sides, making the creature look larger than life. Bony spikes ran the length of its spine from neck to tail. Its horned head, corrupted and twisted with taint, held many, many teeth. But most frightening of all were its eyes which, despite looking milky white and completely devoid of pupils, appeared to contain an unnatural, sinister intelligence. The head reared back and roared, spewing a strange, purplish fire into the air. The watching darkspawn reacted with a mixture of fear and worship, some raising their weapons and answering with roars of their own, others falling to their knees as if in prayer. The transformed Old God snarled and growled and the constant humming of the horde in the back of his head threatened to drive Loghain mad. _So, this is what awaits us?_ he wondered. _Impossible odds against soulless creatures of hate._

As if sensing his thoughts, the Archdemon turned its gaze down upon the very spot he stood. It locked its hideous eyes with those of Ferelden's newest Grey Warden. And it _grinned _at him. Shortly after, the surrounding horde fell upon him with wicked blades and gnashing teeth.

* * *

Kallian perched on one of the logs by the fire. A large, metal flask sat propped up against the log, just next to her right foot. In her lap lay a bag filled with sugar cookies procured from the bakery in Denerim the day before. Any time she had cookies in her possession, she made sure to bring them out during shared watches with Sten. As a courtesy, of course. Granted, she'd prefer the jerky that she had stashed away in her tent - it would honestly go much better with the whiskey in her flask than cookies - but there was something comforting and bonding about sharing cookies and silence with the qunari.

Sten stood behind the Warden and held his hand down and out expectantly, just at her eye level. She chuckled and dutifully placed a cookie in his palm. Then, a muffled whimper caught their attention and both she and Sten looked over at the new tent in their midst. She figured Loghain would probably be utterly mortified to learn he'd spent a good part of the night whimpering in his sleep and she had mostly convinced herself that she should torment him with it while they packed up camp in the morning. The elf grinned mischievously at the thought.

"Kadan," Sten's baritone whisper reached down, washing over her like an unstoppable ocean wave, "would it not be wise to awaken him before his cries rouse the entire camp?"

"Let him suffer," she snorted bitterly, reaching down to grab the flask and throw back a shot. "It's the least that jerk deserves."

Several moments later, the whimpering turned into rather painful cries. Kallian suddenly sat up straight, the bag of cookies sliding off her lap, instantly forgotten. She stared at the tent in concern. From the corner of her eye, she caught a few of the others poking their heads out of their tents to see what the commotion was about. Sten started to step towards the tent, then stopped in his tracks when the point of a sword tore through its roof. Kallian was instantly on her feet in alarm, watching cautiously as the tent violently heaved this way and that, the sword ripping and tearing at imaginary adversaries. The figure inside roared out in desperation, hopelessly tangled inside a tent most obviously not meant to be stood up in. After a few more damaging swings, a large enough rent was torn into the canvas that Loghain managed to crawl out. Once free, he immediately jumped to his feet, sword clutched so tightly in both hands that his knuckles were stark white. Breathing rapidly, his eyes darted to and fro, but the look was far away, as if he wasn't really seeing what was before him.

"Woah... woah, now..." Kallian called out to him soothingly, holding both palms out towards him as if she were trying to calm a spooked horse ready to dangerously bolt at any moment. "Shhhhh... everything's okay. It was just a bad dream. It's all right." She slowly shuffled towards Loghain, careful not to make any sudden movements, and turned one of her palms facing up expectantly, fingers spread. "Give me the sword," she cooed.

Nostrils flaring, Loghain took a step back, the look in his eyes still wild and distant.

"Give me your sword," she repeated, wiggling the fingers on her outstretched hand.

Loghain tightened his grip on the hilt even further and drew the blade back threateningly.

Kallian noticed movement off to her right and glanced over in time to see Sten beginning to unsheath Asala. She held her hand out towards him and motioned him back. "No, no," she ordered. "No weapons. I can handle this." The elf turned back to Loghain and tried a different approach. "Okay," she breathed carefully, "put the sword down, then. Just lay it down by your feet. I'm not gonna take it from you."

He stopped looking around wildly and instead gazed in her direction. He blinked a few times.

"Shhhhhh... that's it," she said, trying her best to sound harmless and calming. "You're safe here." She turned both palms down and slowly motioned towards the ground. "Just put the sword down, Loghain."

He continued to stare at her for a few moments. Then, he blinked again and shook his head roughly. When he looked back up, Kallian was thankful to see that he was finally aware of his real surroundings. Loghain looked at her, looked at the sword in his hands, looked down at the torn tent laying at his feet, then looked at the sword again. He let it fall by his feet and started to tremble slightly, his breathing beginning to slow back down as he stared at the ground.

Kallian let out a heavy sigh of relief and turned back around. "All right, everybody," she said, addressing those who had been awakened. "Crisis averted. Situation under control. You can go back to bed now."

That seemed to satisfy everyone and Kallian found herself left with just Sten and Loghain. She and the qunari shared a silent look, then he took off to stand at the front of camp and out of earshot. "Hey," she called to Loghain. He looked up at her miserably. "Come sit with me a while," she said, motioning to the log laying perpendicular to the one to which she returned.

He stumbled over and sat down heavily. Then, he looked down at his shaking hands and sighed in frustration. Kallian watched him carefully and wondered at how vulnerable he looked, sitting there in cloth pants and tunic soaked with perspiration, slowly but surely bringing his tremors under control. While his decision to sell the Alienage off into slavery still disgusted her to no end, she was shocked to find herself actually feeling sorry for the man sitting so morosely before her. _So, _she pondered, _he's just a person after all. With all the fear and other doubts that come with the territory. _The Warden looked down at her flask for a moment, briefly torn with warring emotions, then picked it up and held it out towards him. Loghain looked over at her, down at the flask she offered, then at her again, seeming unsure about the unexpected kindness the elf was showing him.

"It's Stebbins Wildwood Whiskey," she added, shrugging and trying to look non-chalant about it. "Not half bad, actually, if whiskey's your thing."

Loghain eyed the flask for a moment, looking conflicted, then sighed and accepted it. He took a sip, sniffed, then tossed back several gulps.

"Hey, now!" cried Kallian. "I don't have an endless supply. I'm trying to make it last a while."

He snorted in amusement, then handed the flask back to the Warden. She protectively set it down by her feet again. Both sat in silence for a long while before Kallian finally broke it. "It'll get better... in time," she explained. "The nightmares are pretty bad at first, I'll give you that. And they say it's worse for those of us who join during a Blight. But I'm told they get easier to control after a while." Loghain looked over at her with baleful eyes. "If you manage to figure out how," she deadpanned, "do let me know." That drew a small chuckle from him and she grinned reassuringly. Then, an uncomfortable silence fell upon them once more.

"Was it real?" Loghain asked finally, looking up at Kallian with eyes still haunted by the vivid memory of his nightmare. "Was everything I saw real and happening?"

She looked at him sympathetically. "Finally saw the Archdemon, did you?"

He gulped, ashamed at how badly the visions had shaken him. "Among other things..."

The Warden sighed and answered, "As best as we can tell, what we dream is very real. Our... connection... with the darkspawn, it allows us to tap into their collective hive mind. It's usually shut out when we're awake, save for sensing when they're drawing near. But when we're asleep, well, it's a little harder to block out. I'm told that some of the older Grey Wardens can actually understand a bit of what the Archdemon's saying, but... I don't know any." She shrugged. "Could just be tall tales."

Loghain stared down again at his hands laying in his lap, brooding. "And the village I saw being sacked by darkspawn?"

Kallian cringed. "I don't know," she answered, sounding helpless. "I'm sorry." When Loghain brought his hands up and buried his face in them, she surprisingly felt her heart aching on his behalf. She also felt like pretty poor comfort at the moment. Trying to sound hopeful, she added, "It might not all be true, though. I remember having a nightmare one time of seeing Alistair being tortured by hurlocks, but that obviously wasn't real because he was sleeping right in the next tent at the time. I think... I think the Archdemon is smarter than we've originally given it credit for. I think it might actually send us bad visions in the hopes of crushing our spirits."

Lowering his hands back down, Loghain glanced over at the elf. He seemed to be coming back to himself, looking more determined than disturbed now. "If we share such a connection with the Archdemon," he asked, "does it know what we're thinking? Does it sense us in return?"

The Warden shook her head. "Again, I don't think any of us know that. But I don't think it goes that far, no. If it could, surely it would've sent more darkspawn to overtake us while we were securing the treaties with the rest of Ferelden. It certainly had a good chance to take us out when we were trudging through the Dead Trenches in the Deep Roads." She shuddered slightly at the memory. "We actually saw it fly by. Either it didn't notice us or it didn't think us enough of a threat to bother stopping at the time."

"So," he continued, "we have to kill this Archdemon to stop the Blight, correct?" She nodded. "Then how do we do it? What is this big, Grey Warden secret for slaying the Archdemon? Surely it's not as simple as poking it with a sword or else any idiot with a sharp object and good armor could get the job done."

_And so it finally comes to this, _she sighed inwardly. _The most important of questions. The one that holds Ferelden's very future in the balance. And I haven't the slightest clue how to answer it. _The elf was quiet for a long time, staring down at her flask. Contemplating. Wondering if she should, perhaps, make something up. The idea was tempting enough because she was certain Loghain would not at all be pleased with the real answer. When she looked back up, the beginnings of a lie birthing on the back of her tongue, his cold eyes stopped her instantly. They appeared almost to flash a warning, locked on her so intensely and cutting straight through any pretenses she had. It was rather unsettling, to say the least, as if he knew what she had been thinking. She actually felt rather naked then, as if he could read her like tea leaves in a soothsayer's saucer. A sudden shiver ran up her spine and she decided that lying to this man would be a massively bad idea.

Instead, she took a deep breath and braced herself for the inevitable tongue-lashing. "I don't know," she answered simply.

Loghain stared at her in open disbelief. "What?" he barely breathed, blood running cold at this revelation.

"I don't know," she repeated more forcefully, feeling suddenly incompetent and hating the shameful blush heating up her neck and ears. "Okay? I don't know what the big secret is."

Instead of launching into a tirade, as she had expected, Loghain's shoulders drooped and his brows drew together in confusion. "How?" he asked. "How can you not know this?"

"How about because nobody ever told me?" she answered, immediately defensive in her embarrassment. "How about because I was only a Grey Warden for a whopping few hours before all but one got killed at Ostagar?" She shot him a venemous look.

"The other Warden never told you?"

"No," she sighed. "Apparently Alistair didn't know either, and he'd been a Grey Warden for six months already. I guess it's not something they tell new recruits."

"That makes absolutely no sense!" he responded, anger entering his tone. "Is that not the most important thing you Grey Wardens do? Is that not the reason why everyone practically worships your order?"

Kallian blinked. "Okay, first off, I'm not appreciating you speaking like I'm the only Grey Warden here."

"I'm not here to make you feel appreciated," he growled. "Hope you don't have any illusions about that."

"Oh, trust me, it's the furthest thing from my mind," she hissed back. "But you're a Grey Warden now, too, you know."

"Indeed, I'd almost forgotten that," he shot back sarcastically. "Thank you for the reminder."

She rolled her eyes at him. "But consider this: you've now been a Grey Warden for about as long as I had before everything went severely downhill. How much do you know about being one?"

"Next to nothing."

"Welcome to what's been my world for the past year," she sighed, taking a sip from her flask. "The Joining doesn't just magically imbue you with all the collected knowledge of the order, you know."

"I'm sure if you just explain that nicely to the Archdemon," he sneered, "it will pack up its armies and go home."

"Thanks," she spat, "the sarcasm really helps the situation."

He scoffed. "You'll get no sympathy from me. You could have asked the Orlesian Warden about this any number of times before or after the Landsmeet."

It was Kallian's turn for slumped shoulders. Loghain's comment struck a nerve, but he was absolutely right. She had a Senior Grey Warden right in front of her and didn't think to ask the most important question. _Stupid, stupid, _she reprimanded herself. Even though they planned to meet again in Redcliffe, any number of things could happen to Riordan on the road and then her ignorance could very well doom them all. "You're right," she sighed, "and I'm sorry. I know that doesn't cut it, but it's the best I can offer at the moment. It was incredibly stupid of me not to find out when I had the chance."

Loghain sighed and looked at her. She was very young, that much was obvious. Of course she'd have a disproportionate amount of ignorance and naivete, as frustrating as that made things for him. She'd also have a healthy feeling of invincibility, which probably explained why she hadn't thought to even bother asking how to kill the Archdemon. Obviously her pure, awesome power would be enough to strike it down. He frowned, feeling reminded of Cailan. Maybe he wasn't giving her enough credit, but the very continued existence of Ferelden depended on the two of them accomplishing this impossible task laid before them. He had honestly been expecting her to at least know _something_ more than he did about doing such a thing. But this was all they had to work with and it would just simply have to be enough. _Well, _he thought, _I was pretty young when Maric asked me to do the impossible. And Maric wasn't exactly ready for the trials of being a leader yet, either. Maybe there's still some hope for us._

"So," he said, surfacing from his reflections, "what do we do now?"

"I have a theory," Kallian started, sounding hopeful. "If something should happen and we can't ask Riordan later, I have an idea. But for now, we need to focus on gathering the armies."

"No," said Loghain, reaching out and grabbing the elf's arm as if to directly re-focus her attention. "No more secrets. That is what has put us into this mess of not knowing how, exactly, to end the Blight. If you have an idea, share it now. Why wait?"

The Warden looked a bit shy and embarrassed at that. "Well, it's... it's just a guess. I don't have anything to prove it or back it up. It could be meaningless." She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable.

"It's better than nothing."

She took a deep breath and asked, "What makes us different, Loghain? How are Grey Wardens different from, say, just regular soldiers?"

"We aren't killed from consuming darkspawn blood," he answered immediately.

"It's more than just darkspawn blood, but yes," she nodded, "that's the main thing from what I can tell. It helps us sense the darkspawn and causes us to see and hear the Archdemon, like they do. I think that, in some way, it almost turns us _into_ darkspawn. So, maybe it takes a darkspawn to kill the Archdemon. Obviously, none of the darkspawn themselves would do that. But maybe, because we're tainted, we're just darkspawn enough to have that effect if we strike a killing blow. Maybe it's something to do with our blood?"

Loghain shrugged. "It sounds like a logical theory to me. Then again, I don't profess to know much about arcane magic or blood rituals."

"Neither do I," she added, "but I can't really think of anything better."

They fell silent again, both feeling a bit like new sailors lost adrift in the sea. Kallian sighed and stared at the ground. She really felt like she'd let everyone down, not knowing what they should do if the Archdemon suddenly appeared. She'd just assumed that she'd know the right thing to do when the time came - or that Alistair would - but that now seemed rather silly and reckless. Now she had a battle-hardened strategist asking her for input so he could formulate a plan for them... and she had absolutely no tools to give him. _Just another ignorant ally along for the ride, _she thought bitterly. _Way to go! _When she tore her gaze back up, she found Loghain staring at her rather intently.

"Why did you spare me?" he asked. "What role am I to play? Despite your rather disturbing ignorance in how to end all this, you seem to at least have a working plan in place. One that your other Warden would have surely followed you to the bitter end to see carried out. And yet he has been driven out by your decision to go with me as 'the unknown quantity.' I don't understand your reasoning behind that. My execution was all but arranged. Nobody at the Landsmeet would have blamed you for wanting me dead. I assume, then, that you have something else in mind."

She looked at him for a moment and considered her answer carefully. "A few reasons, actually," she finally said. "I'd promised your daughter, for one thing, and she had fulfilled all that I had asked of her at the time. I don't break my promises." She paused. "Secondly, Riordan made good sense about needing more Grey Wardens in Ferelden and about how your battlefield experience and tactical mind might help our cause."

He nodded before prodding, "And something else that sounded much more personal, interestingly enough."

"Yes," she hissed, "something that you've no right asking me about."

"Fair enough."

Kallian was quiet again for several moments. Then, she continued, "But the short version is that I was granting you mercy. Something that, unfortunately, is hard to find these days."

"Mercy is a strange creature," Loghain chuckled. "They say the sword that struck Andraste was mercy and your mercy is to leave me in the fire. I'm no Chantry scholar. I don't know which is the cruel fate and which is the kind one. Death would have been easier, if not kinder. Instead, my sentence is life as a Grey Warden. That's the harsher punishment, certainly, and I can hardly say that it's more than I deserve. I suppose I ought to be grateful." He paused, looking bitter. "Despite what we each wanted, we're both here now, facing the same enemy, and we can be of use to one another. However little we may enjoy that fact."

"Well, your role in all this is to help me stop the Blight now... or, at least, that's what I had in mind, especially since we're down a Grey Warden," she said. Then, she looked at Loghain seriously and asked, "What do _you_ want?"

"What I want?" he repeated hoarsely. "What an odd question. I want to go back to Denerim and sit in the war room and find no empty chairs at the table," he answered with conviction in his voice. "I want to lose nothing else. I want a line, clearly drawn, that I can defend. I want an end to this war."

The earnestness in his voice touched Kallian deeply. She looked into Loghain's eyes then; really, truly met them and saw the honesty and determination they contained alongside the fierceness. He was a smarmy, smart-mouthed bastard, in her opinion, but he appeared legitimate enough in his vows. She smiled at him, open and genuine, feeling a grudging respect for the man. "Good, because I can provide at least some of those things. You defend me and everyone else in this group. You kill darkspawn. And when the time comes, you help me slay the Archdemon and end this Blight once and for all. I'm giving you a second chance. I want you to take it."

For the first time that night, Loghain smiled. A small, simple smile. "It's a good thing I'm a man who likes to take chances, now, isn't it?"

"Lucky for me, eh?" she chuckled and gave him a friendly wink.

He arched an eyebrow in response. "And just like that, we're allies? I can't imagine it's so simple."

"We don't have to be enemies," she stated simply, shrugging and splaying her hands out, palms open in the gesture of calling a truce. As much as she disliked the man, the thought of constantly bickering and arguing with him was an exhausting one, if she was perfectly honest with herself.

"It is, however, what we've chosen to be, considering last night you very openly disapproved of all my decisions to date," he observed, narrowing his eyes at the elf. "And I don't think changing that is a simple matter."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Kallian answered, looking chagrined, "because we're going to have to work together, you know."

"Is that punishment meant for me or for you?" he asked in a dry tone, raising an eyebrow again.

The Warden snorted behind her hand, trying not to laugh too loudly and wake the camp up again. "Oh, very clever," she said. "You made a funny. There _is_ more to you than I first thought, isn't there?"

"That depends," he responded cautiously, "on what you first thought of me."

Kallian stared at him for a moment, contemplating her response. Then, she shrugged. "Eh, I think the slap shortly after we started talking last night pretty well summed it up."

"Indeed."

She took another sip of whiskey from the flask and grudingly passed it back to Loghain once more. He accepted it, but then looked at her long and hard, eyes narrowed. "Aren't you supposed to be on watch right now?"

The elf ducked her head a little, blushing. "Yes, well," she explained, "you really can't drink enough to dull your Warden senses." Her face shifted to a long-suffering expression. "Trust me on that one." Then, stomach growling, she retrieved the bag that had fallen earlier. "Cookie?" she asked, holding the bag out towards him.

He stared at it with suspicion. "And so now we're trying to bribe me into not loathing you?"

The elf snorted. "Hardly," she said. "I'm just being nice and offering you a cookie. Does there really need to be an ulterior motive there?"

"Cookies hardly go well with whiskey. It's a strange offering."

"Seems to work for the other big soldier-type in my merry band... well, other than he doesn't engage in the drinking part, _per se_, just the cookie-munching bits," Kallian said, shrugging. "But there's some jerky in my tent, if you'd rather..." She stopped suddenly, reminded of something, and looked over at Loghain's rather decimated tent. "Hmmm," she pondered, "were you planning on trying to go back to sleep?"

He followed her gaze. "No, I suppose not," he sighed. "I'm not exactly relishing the thought of dreaming again so soon."

"I don't blame you," she said, nodding. "Well, it's not long before sunrise anyway. You're welcome to sit up with me, if my company will not be overly offensive to your sensibilities." She playfully stuck her tongue out at him. Loghain rewarded her with a most amusing roll of the eyes. The Warden continued, "I'll have Wynne try and patch it up for you tomorrow afternoon. At least try and get you by until we reach the Dalish. I can get you a good tent from them."

Loghain's stomach, much to his chagrin, rather audibly growled. It would certainly take a while getting used to feeling ravenous every few hours. "You said you had something to eat other than cookies?" he asked.

Kallian chuckled and got up to go scrounge around in her tent. Moments later, she reclaimed her seat and handed over a bag of beef jerky. "You wish is my command," she teased.

Loghain arched an eyebrow at her, smirking. "I suppose we'll see how long that lasts."

* * *

Author's Note: Please review, if at all possible, and let me know if it still sucks, has now started to suck, has improved from previous suckage, or is still rocking on hard and heavy! And as before, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

The Confrontation with 'Maric' was brought to you by Johnny Cash's cover of the Nine Inch Nails song "Hurt"

The Rest of the Nightmare was inspired mostly by "Nightmare" by Avenged Sevenfold and a bit by "A Bad Dream" by Keane

The First Civil Conversation was brought to you by "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who (Limp Bizkit's cover is okay, but can't beat the original tune)


	5. Sword Swallowing & Ball Juggling

Author's Note: Once again, as always, thanks to my super-beta, **Phaonica**, and thank you to my lovely reviewers: **Resnic, Josie Lange, Persephone, mousestalker, Shakespira, jackkel dragon, almostinsane, Eva Galana, Thorn of the Dead Gods, Gene Dark, icey cold, **and **mije**

**

* * *

**

The next morning, as the group gathered up their belongings and helped break down camp, Kallian took Loghain around and properly introduced him to everyone. It was something she'd neglected to do the day before, choosing instead to march on in silence and brood. Not her most mature moment, to be certain, but she had felt justified at the time. Today, however, was a new day and she wanted to start it off on the right foot. Which meant, naturally, that at least one party member would feel the inexplicable urge to try and pull Loghain's chain.

"So, errr... is it _Lord_ Loghain?" Zevran asked when Kallian brought her charge around to where the assassin was removing his tent stakes.

"I am no longer a teyrn, nor even a knight," answered Loghain. "Address me without a title, as you would any other Grey Warden."

"So... just Loghain, then?"

"Correct." When Zevran continued to look at him expectantly, he asked, "What's on your mind?"

"You know who I am, yes?"

Standing just behind Loghain, Kallian covered her eyes. She could immediately sense her fellow elf was up to something. _No fights today, _she mentally begged. _Please, no fights today._

"Well, I would say so, since the Warden just formerly introduced you to me," Loghain drawled sarcastically.

"That's not quite what I meant," Zevran pressed. At Loghain's unreadable expression, he continued, "I was one of the Crows you hired to kill the Grey Wardens."

Kallian painfully moaned. _And he-e-e-e-ere it comes..._

"Ah," he replied, "I thought you looked familiar."

"Well," the elf went on, "I just wanted to report that I failed my mission, Loghain."

"You don't say?" he deadpanned.

Kallian slowly uncovered her eyes. Zevran met them briefly and winked. Then, he glanced back at Loghain and pulled a ridiculously guilty look onto his face. "I'm terribly broken up over it."

"Hmm," Loghain responded. "Well, thank you kindly for informing me."

"My pleasure." Zevran lightly bowed, then returned to carefully folding up his tent.

Kallian was a bit surprised, yet exceedingly proud, that most of the rest of her crew was courteous - if a bit less jestful -towards Loghain, given the circumstances. Leliana courtsied. Oghren, despite his rather reluctant expression, shook his hand. Morrigan bowed her head in acknowledgment. Sten did, too, although it was immediately apparent that the soldier put Loghain a bit on edge.

"A qunari, you said?" he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously, as they walked on out of earshot.

"Yes," the elf answered.

"You _do_ know about the qunari, I hope?" Loghain pressed. "That their race has a very bad habit of invading other countries and conquering them?"

"I've heard something like that, yes."

Loghain stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the Warden incredulously. "And his being here doesn't disturb you in the slightest?"

"On the contrary," she defended, "I certainly had my misgivings about him at first. Especially considering the circumstances that led to his joining our group. But Sten has more than proven himself to me. I trust him with my life, as he does with me."

"Did you ever stop and wonder what, exactly, he was doing in Ferelden?"

"Obtaining the answer to a question," she said, as if it were the most natural conclusion in the world.

"What?"

"No, a more specific question than that," she teased. "The qunari want to know what a Blight is, so they sent Sten and his company."

"His company?" Loghain asked, suspicions deepening. "You mean his reconnaissance party, more likely. Hmph. Where are his comrades now?"

"Dead," she said curtly. "More victims of the darkspawn."

"Why didn't he report back, then?

"It's... complicated," Kallian answered carefully. "At the time, there were extenuating circumstances preventing him from doing so. He could return at any time now, but he's chosen to stay and help me end the Blight."

"I see," he said. His tone clearly conveyed that he didn't buy the qunari's tale one bit. "And he's doing this out of the goodness of his heart now, is he? While you parade him throughout the countryside and let him have a good look at our armies, our in-fighting and our crumbling infrastructure?"

Hiding her inward embarrassment at being called out in such a manner, the Warden locked defiant eyes with Loghain. "I trust Sten."

"Good for you," Loghain quipped sarcastically, looking down at the elf. "I do not. And I must say that it's quite unsettling how trusting you are with the random people you've acquired. Especially given their rather murky backgrounds, if the qunari is any indication."

"Well, that goes without saying," the elf shot back. "I recruited _you_, after all."

"Ouch," he deadpanned. "That almost stung, Warden."

"Ham it up, rookie," she chuckled. Then, she got them moving forward once again.

"Rookie?" he questioned with mock indignance. "Who are _you _calling a rookie?"

She looked over at Loghain coyly, arcing an eyebrow at him. "Well, you _are_ a brand new Grey Warden recruit, are you not?"

He sighed, "Just keep twisting the knife, Warden."

Kallian laughed, lightly shaking her head. However, her amusement quickly faded when they reached the glowering looks of Wynne. She stopped and turned to Loghain. "You, uh, you remember Wynne from the Landsmeet, right?"

"Vaguely," he answered. "I was nearly unconscious by that time, if you'll recall."

The elf ducked her head and grinned sheepishly. "Hmm, yeah, not the best circumstances at the time, I agree." She took a deep breath, feeling the healer's withering glare practically radiating from her. "Uh, maybe you ought to wait here a few moments while I go talk with her about your tent. I won't be long." Before he could respond, the Warden had already dashed off in Wynne's direction.

The mage crossed her arms in front of her chest as Kallian approached. "Making the rounds, I see?"

"'Mornin', Wynne!" greeted the elf.

Wynne looked back at her with a rather cool expression. "Yes, it certainly is morning, I agree."

The Warden sighed. She was not yet used to the bristling manner in which Wynne had been treating her ever since the Landsmeet. The two had been close once, after all. Kallian regarded the old mage much like a grandmother and it had been comforting to have a mother-like figure in her life again, especially in such frightening and challenging times. She had not had that ever since her own mother had been killed during her youth. Her father, who had come from the Highever Alienage and had no other family in Denerim, had never remarried after that. Both sets of aunts and uncles on her mother's side had perished when she was too young to remember. That left her with Soris and Shianni, who were more like siblings than cousins to her. But Shianni was her own age - and, more often than not, Kallian's partner-in-crime - so she had always viewed her as a sister more than anything else.

But now, a cold rift had been torn between the mage and the elf. Kallian knew the healer highly disapproved of her decision to spare Loghain and she sadly wondered if things would ever be the same between them again. After all, Wynne had not been the only person with a close relationship to Alistair, but it was as if she either forgot or ignored Kallian's own pain in that regard.

"I have a favor to ask of you," the Warden carefully ventured.

Wynne regarded her for a moment. "Go on."

"Would you be so kind," she asked tentatively, "as to knit Loghain's tent back together?"

The mage stared at her sternly for a few moments. Kallian fought hard not to squirm underneath that penetrating gaze. "You mean the one he ripped to shreds with his sword last night?"

The elf flinched. "That would be the one, yes."

"Why?" she asked. "Won't he just tear it apart again during the next nightmare?"

"I don't think he will, no," answered the Warden, "now that he has a good handle on what Grey Warden nightmares are like. They really are rather... disorienting... at first."

"Hmph."

"Please, Wynne," she continued. "I'd rather he not have to sleep outside in the elements. It would hardly be hospitable of us."

"I think he _should_ sleep outside!" Wynne answered, suddenly raising her voice and glaring past the elf to look at Loghain. He narrowed his eyes at her in return. Content that he could obviously overhear her, she continued at the same volume. "He should sleep outside like the dangerous dog that he is! He already bit the hand of his former master, Warden. Are you so sure he won't just turn around and bite yours, too?"

Kallian slowly ran a hand across her face, hoping the earth might open up and conveniently suck her in. "Wynne," she calmly responded, "I am going to ask you only one more time. As a friend seeking a favor. Please, don't force me to make it an order."

She and Wynne held eyes for a moment. Then, the healer looked away and answered, in a softer voice, "Fine, but only because it's you asking me and not _him_."

"Thank you, Wynne."

"Don't thank me yet," continued the mage. "I haven't a clue how you want me to accomplish such a task. He practically destroyed the thing and it will take more than an evening's worth of sewing to patch it back up."

"It doesn't have to be anything pretty," the Warden clarified.

"Even still, it's a full day's project at best."

Kallian pursed her lips together in thought. Then, happening on an idea, she suggested, "What if Bodahn let you ride in the wagon? Do you think you could patch it well enough on the road?"

Wynne lingered on the concept. "I suppose that could work."

"Excellent! We'll plan on that, then." Feeling fortunate to have escaped what could have been a full-blown argument, Kallian walked back towards Loghain to finish showing him around.

"She's a pleasant one, isn't she?" he remarked in a caustic tone. "But you _are_ her commander. Seeing you... cringe... before her does not exactly inspire confidence."

"Can I get you a ladder so you can get off my back?" Kallian snapped in response, face suddenly burning. "I don't think you appreciate just how difficult lobbying for you truly is." She sighed. "Besides, I do not cringe before the darkspawn. That's what counts." Quickly changing subjects before they could get into a real insult trade, the elf motioned towards the wagon at the back of camp. "And here's the rest of our crew!"

An odd assortment of persons was gathered there - a human, a Dalish elf, three dwarves, and a Tranquil - some loading supply crates into the back and the rest harnessing Bodahn's tawny-colored ox to the front of the wagon. The group paused at the Warden's approach and watched attentively. Two of the dwarves set down their load and stepped forward, both beaming up at Kallian.

"Good morning, my friend, good morning!" the bearded one called.

"This," Kallian said, motioning to him, "is Bodahn. He sells us supplies-"

"-at a discount!" interjected the dwarf.

The Warden smiled, "Yes, at a discount. And for a small fee, he lets us store our tents and other gear in his wagon, too. Speaking of..." Kallian turned to Bodahn. "Would it be all right if Wynne rode up front with you? I have some knitting that desperately needs attention, but obviously walking and knitting aren't very conducive..."

Bodahn waved her off almost immediately. "Sure, sure. No problem at all."

"Thank you dearly," she said, smile widening. "And Bodahn, this is Loghain, our newest Grey Warden."

"Pleasure to meet ya!" the dwarf grinned, shaking hands with Loghain. "So," he whispered, a gossip-hunting glint in his eye, "you're the one that replaced the pretty boy Grey Warden?"

Kallian loudly cleared her throat. "Moving right along..." She motioned towards the other dwarf. "This is his 'son', Sandal."

"Enchantment?" the younger dwarf asked, sending an amiable smile and puppy-dog eyes her way.

"Not today, sweetie," Kallian chuckled, lightly patting him on the head. She looked back over at Loghain. "Sandal doesn't have a very... extended vocabulary... but he's the best person I know for working runes."

"Enchantment!"

"I see," Loghain drawled, arching an eyebrow. "How... enchanting."

Kallian smirked at him. "You're quite the comedian this morning."

"Maric always told me that was part of my inescapable charm," he answered dryly.

The Warden rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the others here are our army representatives from each camp." She motioned to each one in turn. "Emissary Pether from the Circle of Magi, Emissary Caron of the Dalish, Emissary Fellhammer from Orzammar, and Lieutenant Cadrim of Redcliffe." Each bowed their head once as their name was called.

"Well met, gentlemen," Loghain acknowledged, but Kallian caught a glimmer of question in his eyes.

With the last of the introductions out of the way, the Warden dismissed Loghain so he could finish with his own preparations. Meanwhile, she made one more check around the camp to ensure that everyone was settled and ready to go. When she got the all clear, she ordered the party back onto the road south, making steady time towards the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. As everyone spread out and reformed into their usual travelling cliques, she was rather surprised to see Loghain pull up alongside her and match her pace at the front of the loose troop formation.

"Not going to skulk around the back of the group today?" she joked. "I would've thought you'd already be tired of me by now."

"Hardly," he scoffed back. "I'm a glutton for punishment, it seems." Loghain paused for a moment, then said, "Actually, I came up here to ask you something."

"Oh?"

"If we have emissaries from the armies you've acquired," he questioned, "then why are we, personally, going around fetching the armies? Wouldn't it be faster and simpler to send the emissaries to their respective camps and pass the message along to muster in Redcliffe with all due haste?"

"Believe it or not," Kallian answered, "I actually did think about that. My main concern is how thick the darkspawn have gotten lately. To send only one emissary out in each direction by himself, what are the chances one or more of them would get overwhelmed by darkspawn and never make it to the armies? We'd risk arriving in Redcliffe only to find a severely depleted number of allies or, at worst, none but Arl Eamon's men." She shook her head. "Honestly, even though it's slower going, the most sure way to gather the armies is through safety in numbers. We go as a group to each outpost and send the armies towards Redcliffe as we move on to the next one."

"The roads haven't appeared too dangerous so far," he observed.

"After only one day's travelling, I'll admit, they haven't," responded the elf. "But trust me, as someone who has traipsed about the entire countryside this past year, it's pretty challenging. And it's especially bad the further south you go." She paused, then continued, "Besides, can you really picture Emissary Fellhammer stumbling back to Orzammar balancing a rather large supply crate on top of his head?"

Loghain smirked at that. "Good point."

And as if to try and mock Kallian's reassurances that the roads were, indeed, dangerous, the rest of the day's journey proved productive and uneventful.

* * *

Despite being an exceptional assassin for most of his life, Zevran was a rather fun-loving soul by nature. Well-versed in several different card games, massage techniques, and a self-proclaimed expert lover, he enjoyed spending his downtime making people smile and laugh - even if, sometimes, those very people were also his employers' marks. Since he'd joined the Warden, such merrymaking was mostly confined to drinking games and occasionally baiting the more serious group members. In this regard, he and Oghren played very well off of each other, almost like a tag-team at times, and occasionally he and Kallian were able to pull off some pretty impressive pranks. But Zevran felt he was the master at the ultimate set-up. After all, it was he who still managed to rankle Wynne any time he breathed a word about "magical bosoms" and it was he who ultimately won the ongoing bet as to who could make Morrigan blush the most.

However, now that Loghain had joined the party... well, that just presented a whole new realm of possibilities in Zevran's mind. He glanced over at the warrior, who was sitting on a nearby log, completely focused on his task: running a whetstone carefully along the edges of his longsword, re-sharpening the blade. Zevran eyed the blade carefully. It looked plenty fine and sharp enough to him. He got the feeling, simply from observing Loghain's body language, that the act was more about giving the former teyrn something constructive to do that wouldn't involve interaction with the others, moreso than actually completing a task that needed doing. The rogue mentally chuckled as a rather devious thought struck him.

He looked across from his own seat at Kallian. She was absorbed with a leather-bound book she always carried around in her pack. Zevran recognized it immediately as her sketchbook. The Warden mostly kept her scribblings to herself and the others respected her privacy. After all, they each had their own quirks and rituals for retaining sanity in these hard times and if drawing helped keep her sane, more power to her, in his opinion. But she had occasionally shown him and some of the others her work from time to time, mostly scenes depicting their adventures or funny caricatures of their fellow party members. She had even once drawn a rather elaborate sketch of the Ferelden countryside and gave it to Sten to add to his collection of portraits and paintings. That moment was only the second time Zervan could remember ever seeing the giant, stoic qunari smile - the first time having been when Kallian presented him with his sword back at Dwyn's cottage in Redcliffe.

Judging by the way she kept discretely glancing over at Loghain, Zevran could surmise what caricature she was working on at the moment. He would have to ask her later if he could sneak a peek at it when she was finished, since the sly look in her eye and wry grin on her face practically screamed at him that it was not exactly a flattering depiction she was creating. He stifled a chuckle.

_Good, _he thought. _She's in a playful mood tonight._ _I'll be able to set this up with her perfectly._

"Oh, Kal, my dear," he called.

The Warden glanced up, smirking. "Yes, my deadly little pet?"

Zevran shot her a wide grin. Oh, how he loved when she flirted with him. Even if it went absolutely nowhere. _Such a tease, _he sighed inwardly, _but still so much fun. _"I have an idea."

"Oh?" she asked, setting her journal down. "I'm all ears."

"Aren't we all?" he asked, chuckling. "Well, at least you and I." With that, he waggled his eyebrows and worked his jaw muscles to twitch his pointed elven ears a little.

Kallian snorted a laugh and ran a palm over her face. "How could I ever forget?" she sighed. "So, what is this _grand_ idea of yours?"

"I was thinking-"

"You? Thinking?" she interrupted with a faux-shocked tone. "Will the wonders of Thedas never cease?"

"I know, I know," Zevran quipped good-naturedly. "But even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and again, right?"

"No-o-o-o comment."

"I thought as much," he chuckled again. "But I was thinking it has been a while since we all played a game together, what with the lead-up to that Landsmeet being so tense and nerve-wracking." He shrugged his shoulders non-chalantly. "And the aftermath has not exactly been... how shall I say? Comfortable? Yes, I think that is the word I am looking for."

"I think we're settling back into a routine," Kallian responded, though melancholy was evident in her voice. "As well as we can, all things considered."

"Yes," continued the assassin, "but I was just thinking that perhaps we are being a bit... rude... to our newest member." He snuck a peek at Loghain from the corner of his eye and caught him arching a brow. _Ah, eavesdropping, as I suspected, _thought Zevran. _Very good._

"How so?" Kallian asked. "I haven't swung any punches at him today, so that's a start, right?"

"That _is_ a good start, yes," conceded Zevran, "but what I mean is that we all know each other quite well by now, obviously. But poor Loghain has no idea quite who he is forced to travel with and fight alongside. I mean, I'm sure he knows a little of you because, well, _everybody_ talks about _the_ _Warden_." Zevran leaned closer and held up a hand beside his mouth, as if commenting aside. "Not that I could blame them." He waggled his eyebrows again and Kallian rolled her eyes in response. Going back to his usual, casual tone of voice, he continued, "But I was thinking, since we properly introduced ourselves earlier today, we ought to give him a little background, all of us. Tell a little bit about each other." Zevran paused slightly, shooting Kallian a significant look as he said, "Like what we did before the Blight and such."

The Warden raised her eyebrows, darted a quick glance in Loghain's direction, then looked back at Zevran as if questioning the intentions of the expression he'd shot her. "Our pre-Blight professions?" she asked, cocking her head slightly. Her fellow rogue answered with a mischievous grin and a rather devious gleam in his eyes. Kallian shot him a wicked smile and nodded. They had played this game twice before with new group members, horrifying Wynne a few days after she'd joined and successfully shocking Oghren - no small feat - his first night in camp. It would be interesting to see if they could get Loghain to take the bait. Putting on her best expression of uncertainty, the Warden answered, "I dunno, Zev. You know my job wasn't exactly... er, glamorous. Or proud. Or anything remotely dashing. A lot of people looked down on it, and a few women even spat on me once."

"Oh, but the game would not be the same without our main star!" he protested. At Kallian's groan of resistance, he added, "If you don't, I think I'll cry." He gave a few sniffs for emphasis.

Kallian gave a dramatic sigh. "We can't have that, now can we?" Pinching the bridge of her nose, she conceded, "All right, all right. But let it be known I am not participating willingly."

"Ooh, I want to join in!" called Leliana. She had been sitting cross-legged on a blanket in front of her tent, re-stringing her lyre, but obviously listening in on the conversation. The bard scurried up and sat down next to Zevran.

"Lovely," Zevran said, looking Leliana up and down briefly. Then, he turned his head towards the qunari. "What about you, Sten?"

"No."

"Such a shame," the elf sighed. He looked to his right. "Oghren!" A drunken grumble came back in response. "Get over here, my roly-poly little friend!" More grumbling answered him, but the dwarf came stumbling into view. He chose to stand between Zevran's log and Loghain's, swaying slightly. Zevran nodded his approval, then looked off at the dark tent in the distance. "Morrigan!" he yelled.

After a minute or so, she shouted back, "What?"

"Come play a game with us!"

"No!"

"Please?"

"I said no!"

"Pretty please?"

Another few minutes of silence passed. Then, the disgruntled apostate stomped into view. "What?" she asked again, venom dripping from her voice.

"We're going to play a game," Zevran said, smiling up at the glowering witch.

"Yes, you've said that already," she drolled. "What you haven't said is why I should find any of this even remotely rewarding."

"We're going to help our newest member get to know us better," he explained, nodding his head towards Loghain. "I think it will be very fun. Very _entertaining_." He winked at her.

Morrigan arched an eyebrow in response. It was obvious to her that something was afoot. "All right," she said slowly, "I _suppose _this could get interesting." She carefully took a seat beside Kallian.

Zevran turned around and glanced towards Wynne's tent. The light glowing from inside told him she hadn't truly gone to bed yet. Probably reading, he suspected. "Wynne?" he called.

There was a short pause, then a long-suffering sigh. "Yes?"

"Come out here and join us," offered Zevran. After several moments of silence, he added, "I promise not to talk about your magical bosom."

Another loud sigh permeated from the tent. Shortly after, the old healer ambled out and took a seat with the others surrounding the campfire, glass of red wine in hand. Zevran smiled, then finally turned towards his new target. "Loghain?"

The warrior paused, whetstone still in hand, and responded, "This really isn't necessary."

"Oh, come now!" the elf admonished. "Wouldn't it benefit you to know what skills we possess? We haven't had a real battle yet since you joined us, after all."

"I'm sure I'll manage just fine."

"It'll be fun," Kallian added.

Loghain looked up and locked eyes with her. "Yes, fun _is_ certainly the priority here," he said dryly. "How could I have forgotten that?"

She rolled her eyes in response before turning back to her fellow elf. "Since it was your idea, Zevran," she said, "why don't you start us off?"

"As you wish," he replied, bowing forward. "Like we briefly rehashed a few days ago, I was an assassin with the Antivan Crows. I was quite good, too, if I do say so myself. And I do." He glanced to his right. "Our dear Loghain hired me to get rid of the two remaining Grey Wardens, pesky survivors that they were." At Loghain's glower, Zevran amended, "Well, hired by his associate, I should say." The elf cleared his throat for a moment, then cocked an eyebrow at Kallian. "But our lovely Warden was more skillful and deadly than I had anticipated. I failed quite miserably, but it was the most fortunate failure of my life. It has freed me from the Crows and now I am a willing slave to a most exceptional woman, ready at her side to perform any command... any whim... any hidden, undiscovered desire she may have." He leered at her in a rather exaggerated manner. Kallian smirked back, trying hard not to bust out laughing as everyone else looked noticably uncomfortable.

Oghren sniggered salaciously and nudged Zevran in the ribs. "Eh heh, is that a dagger in your pocket or are ya just happy to see the Warden?"

Kallian facepalmed, shaking her head slightly, and groaned, "Andraste's ass, but I've made some rather questionable allies, haven't I?"

"I could've told you that," scoffed Loghain. "You recruited me, after all."

"Oh, yeah," she replied, grinning at the fact that he was turning her own joke from earlier in the day back around onto her. "Good point."

"So," said Zevran," who's next?"

"I'll go," Leliana volunteered. "We can just go around in a circle like this." She gestured from Zevran to herself and clockwise around to the others. Kallian shot the bard a suddenly wary look. She met Leliana's eyes, then nodded towards Loghain ever so slightly, then looked at her again. Leliana understood the message clearly: _For the love of the Maker, don't let him know you're an Orlesian bard, of all things. _She smiled reassuringly at the Warden before taking her turn. "I am a minstrel, but not too bad with a bow... or so I am told." She giggled softly at that. "I was born here in Ferelden, but my mother moved us to Orlais when I was very young. When my mother passed away, the Orlesian noblewoman she had been serving let me stay with her for a time."

"You're Orlesian, then," accused Loghain in a belittling tone. "Wonderful..."

"Loghain..." Kallian growled in warning. She had worked so hard all day to avoid unnecessary confrontations. She wasn't about to let that go to waste. "Let's keep this civil."

"I know how you feel about the Orlesians," responded Leliana, "but I am not one of them."

"You may as well be," he countered. "You grew up there. Your views and values are theirs. I heard you speaking with the others today. You find Ferelden unsophisticated, barely civilized."

"No, this is not true," Leliana replied defensively.

"Loghain..." growled the Warden again.

"You're painted to look like you're a Fereldan," he spat, voice condescending, "but scratch the surface and find _nothing_ but Orlais underneath."

Leliana's forehead crinkled, obviously hurt, and she looked away from him so he wouldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes.

Kallian stood up in a huff and glared down at Loghain. "That's quite enough out of you," she snarled. "Everyone is _trying_ to be nice and make you feel welcome, and your response is to snap at them?" He said nothing, scowling at her in response. The Warden fervently ignored the 'I told you so' look Wynne was pointedly giving her. "Whether you like it or not," she continued, "these are the people who will be fighting at your side and watching your back from now on. Do tryand be on your best behavior. I know that must be a terribly difficult thing for you, but a concentrated effort would be greatly appreciated."

Loghain's glower deepened, if that were even possible. "Yes, _ma'am_," he answered mockingly through clenched teeth.

The Warden sighed heavily and let his insolence go for the moment. He had, after all, behaved himself for most of the day. She sat back down and turned a sympathetic face to the bard. "Go on, Leliana."

She shook her head. "I'm finished," she said, voice thick with emotion.

Kallian glared at Loghain again. He simply glared back. _Maker's breath, _she lamented mentally, _this is going to be a very, very long Blight. _Putting on a forced smile, she looked at the next companion in the circle. "Wynne?"

"I'm a healer," she answered curtly, taking a sip of wine.

Everyone waited a few moments, expecting some further type of response. When none was obviously forthcoming, Kallian furrowed her brows at Wynne in confusion and concern while Morrigan looked around slightly off-guard. "Oh," the apostate said, shifting anxiously on her seat, "okay, then. Guess it's my turn. Marvelous." She hesitated for a moment, unused to participating in such group events. "I am also a mage, though apparently everyone likes to call me an apostate instead. Boggles my mind, really." A pause. "I kill things. With magic. Quite effectively, I might add."

"She was also, apparently, still living with her mother in the woods before she joined the Warden," Zevran added with an impish grin. Morrigan shot him a nasty stare.

"Charming," drawled Loghain. The witch's angry glare suddenly shifted his way.

Kallian fought the urge to chuckle. After all, it wasn't often she had the privilege of watching Morrigan look uncomfortable about anything. It was obvious such a sharing session was completely foreign to her. Then, she noticed Morrigan looking at her rather expectantly, as were the others. _It's showtime, _the Warden playfully thought.

"Well," she started, sounding convincingly shy, "I'll preface this by saying I didn't really have a lot of talents. I still don't, actually, other than killing things. But we needed the money, so I did what I could." The Warden took a deep breath and admitted, "I was... in the entertainment industry."

After a short, awkward silence, Loghain arched an eyebrow. "Am I allowed to ask what, exactly, that's supposed to mean? Or will you scold me again for my impertinence?"

"Truth be told," she continued, making a show of looking reluctant and embarrassed, "I was a street performer and entertained men."

Wynne let out a sudden, disgusted sigh and threw her hands up in the air. "I'm not listening to this story again," she announced, standing up in indignation. She shot the Warden a pointed look and shook a finger in her direction. "And _you_ should be ashamed of yourself." With that, the old mage spun around and marched back to her tent.

Kallian and Zevran exchanged glances. Both of them fought valiantly not to burst out laughing. Completely unplanned, Wynne had just added a major degree of credibility to the act without even knowing it.

Loghain arched the other eyebrow and watched Wynne's offended retreat. That alone told him everything he needed to know. Or so he thought. "Ah," he said cautiously, "I see. It's not an... uncommon profession... for young, attractive, elven girls. Some say it's the oldest profession."

Zevran grinned wickedly. _Oh, Loghain,_ he laughed mentally, _you took the bait hook, line, and sinker. _Beside him, Leliana's eyes widened at Loghain's comment, as did Morrigan's. Oghren simply chuckled in a rather dirty, lecherous manner. Zevran gave the dwarf a quick wink and Oghren simply nodded back.

Putting on a confused expression, Oghren turned to Loghain and asked, "It's common for young, attractive, elf girls to swallow swords and juggle balls for entertainment and pleasure?" He laughed lecherously.

Zevran bit down on his tongue quite hard to keep from entirely losing his composure right then and there and spoiling his game.

Loghain suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "that's one way of putting it, I suppose."

The Warden placed her hands on her hips. "I've never seen any other female elves engaging in such activities out in public."

"No," Loghain confirmed, shaking his head slowly, "from what I've been told, that sort of activity is usually taken to a more private area once payment has been arranged."

Leliana and Morrigan exchanged glances as if neither one could honestly believe what they were hearing. Then, Morrigan shot Zevran a rather excited and predatory look. She had picked up on what Zevran had meant earlier about the game being "interesting." Indeed, she eagerly anticipated the moment Loghain would finally realize what the Warden was actually talking about. Zevran winked back at her.

"I never negotiated prices," Kallian said, putting on a befuddled look. "I just depended on the kindness of amused strangers to throw something in my tip jar."

Zevran cleared his throat, which in reality was to cover his chuckling, and decided to take the prank to the next level. "Kal," he said, smirking, "I think Loghain might be rather interested in seeing just how well you can perform."

Loghain's eyebrows suddenly shot up. "No, no," he quickly responded, "that's quite all right, I assure you."

"Oh, come now," the assassin pressed mercilessly, "I'm sure our dear Warden wouldn't mind swallowing your longsword. It's really quite entertaining."

Loghain stared at Zevran in barely-contained horror. Leliana covered her mouth to keep from giggling out loud.

Kallian, meanwhile, put on a show of looking nervous. "I don't know, Zev," she said reluctantly. "It's been over a year since I last did that trick. His longsword's liable to split my throat open if I tried it now."

Loghain's barely-contained horror suddenly turned into a completely unabated, one-hundred percent horrified expression. Zevran finally couldn't stand it any longer and broke out laughing so hard it took all his strength and composure not to fall and roll around on the ground in completely unadulterated amusement. Leliana joined in and Oghren's guffaws were enough to wake the dead. Morrigan grinned wickedly at Zevran.

"You are all horrible, horrible people!" Wynne shouted from her darkened tent. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

After regaining control of himself, Zevran turned to Leliana and said, "You've got something Kal can juggle for him instead, right, my dear?"

Leliana shook her head in amusement. "You are a bad person, Zevran," she scolded. Then, she went to her tent and returned a few moments later with four apples in hand. She tossed them one at a time to Kallian, who deftly caught them and began to juggle them with much grace and skill. Over the shoulder, behind the back, backwards and forwards, even up and under a leg, the apples did fly in perfect arcs while Leliana started to hum a tune and Zevran clapped in time. As the Warden continued juggling the apples, Loghain suddenly realized how far off his assumption had been. All the color drained out of his face.

"What's the matter, Loghain?" Zevran asked in almost sadistic glee. "What else could ball juggling and sword swallowing have possibly meant?"

Perfectly timed, Kallian playfully tossed one of the apples Loghain's way, smirking impishly. It harmlessly rolled to a stop by one of his feet. He looked down at the apple, then glared up at the Warden with a most unamused expression. "Oh, don't get your smallclothes all bunched up," she teased, still juggling the remaining three apples. "We told the truth. I really was a street performer in my past life. Just not _that_ kind."

Loghain shook his head, looking at a complete loss for words. Then, in a rather long-suffering tone, he said, "And it's up to you people to help us all end the Blight? Andraste help us!" With that, he got up and huffed off to his tent. Zevran could no longer contain himself and finally succumbed to rolling around, clutching his sides in almost painful fits of laughter. The rest joined him.

* * *

Author's Note: Please review, if at all possible, and let me know if it still sucks, has now started to suck, has improved from previous suckage, or is still rocking on hard and heavy! Although this chapter was not very musically influenced, one song did come to mind as Zevran appeared to take over the storytelling halfway through the chapter (and, really, it definitely feels like Zev's song to me!).

The Prank was brought to you by "The Joker" by the Steve Miller Band


	6. Yellow

Author's Note: Huge, major props and thanks to **Gene Dark**, who has stepped up to be my new beta in the absense of my old one. And for reminding me that Maric's cloak was also purple. ;)

And as always, thanks to my lovely reviewers: **SamAnthem, Eva Galana, Arsinoe de Blassenville, mousestalker, Shakespira, jackkel dragon**, and **Josie Lange**

**

* * *

**

It was around noontime the next day when Loghain's blade finally had the chance to taste darkspawn blood again. Ever since his retreat at Ostagar, he had been trapped in the regent's seat at Denerim trying to keep the kingdom from becoming completely unhinged in the wake of King Cailan's death. He was able to command a few battles in the northern bannorn from the field - in an attempt to rein in the civil war that was brewing - while his daughter oversaw the throne that was, in his eyes, rightfully hers. But he had needed to stay close to Denerim to help support her as the banns became ever more unruly. It was also Rendon Howe's advice that Loghain not stray too far. A united front by the Mac Tir line, he'd said, would look stronger in the eyes of Ferelden than either one alone. Howe would see to bringing the nobles in line, he'd been assured, so that Loghain could remain in Denerim and direct troops to where they were needed.

Thus, Loghain's sword had not seen darkspawn action in over a year. It, instead, rested in its sheath while its master walked beside the Warden once again at the front of her travelling circus. The former teyrn kept a watchful eye ahead and to either side of the beaten, well-worn path that travelled alongside some fragmented stretches of the raised, stone Imperial Highway on their right.

While the vigilance was appreciated, the uncomfortable silence that came with it put Kallian a bit off-balance. He'd not spoken a word to her since last night's stunt. Despite the elf's outwardly positive disposition, her natural, internal worrier was at work with full speed, concerned that she had, perhaps, gone too far or had offended him in some manner. So, in an effort to overcome the pervasive hush, she started listing the various types of darkspawn she had encountered up close and personal during her adventures and sharing her strategies for dealing with each kind.

As luck would have it, the talk appeared to summon them for the first time since they'd left Denerim. Out of nowhere, Loghain's ears filled with a loud, buzzing sound that did not at all seem external, but rather felt like it was coming from inside his own head. That was followed in short order by butterflies in his stomach and a prickly sensation running up his back. He looked over at Kallian in a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Yup," she confirmed, eyes suddenly alert and hands already moving to her daggers, "my Warden senses are tingling, too."

Shortly thereafter, a respectable contingent of genlocks and hurlocks sprang from the ground along all sides of the party. Everyone fell into their usual patterns of defense: Wynne, Morrigan, Leliana, and the army emissaries took positions surrounding Bodahn's wagon, launching arrows and spells to both defend the helpless surface dwarves and to help back up the offensive melee fighters; Sten and Oghren charged forward with their respective two-handed weapons and cleaved several of the charging darkspawn in two; Daveth and Zevran hung in between, felling any darkspawn that made it through the frontlines before they could menace the ranged fighters.

Meanwhile, Kallian launched into the first darkspawn she spotted and Loghain worked to find a rhythm in tandem with her attacks. It took a while to do so since they both were eager to be the first to sink a blade into the next opponent, but after the first wave of darkspawn they developed a symbiosis of sorts. When Loghain would shield bash a hurlock, Kallian would pounce and sink her daggers into its chest. After the elf stunned a genlock with some dirty fighting, bashing the butt of her pommel against its face, Loghain would quickly clean up with a swift decapitation. It wasn't pretty and Loghain was fairly certain their tactics were not as efficient as they could be, but they certainly appeared effective enough to get the job done against relatively small enemy groups.

However, as the afternoon dragged on and their formerly swift progress ground to a halt every few hours for renewed combat, the group's tactics began to concern him less in light of a new, vaguely disturbing realization: it was taking him much longer to bring down the darkspawn than the others. Loghain hadn't quite noticed it at first while he was still caught up in the initial exhilaration of battling again. Yet, as his old form returned to him and he fell back into a familiar pattern harking back to the rebellion years, his mind began analyzing and picking apart nuances and details. Combat slowed down for him, mentally, and he was better able to evaluate and gauge the movements of the enemy - individually and as a group - as well as appraise how his own troops were doing, taking notice of what actions were good and would warrant reinforcement and what actions were not as good and would need correction before the next battle. Such an ability was what had always made him a good tactician and strategist; that gift for seeing things that others would miss in the usual haste and urgency of warfare.

As his mind broke down the patterns of everyone else around him, it also noted his own ability and that was when his initial discomfort arose. Whereas his fellow warriors - Oghren and Sten - were dropping hurlocks in one or two strokes, it was taking him several more. This might have been understandable given that those two were fighting with a battleaxe and a greatsword, respectively. However, seeing Zevran - a rogue built for speed and stealth, not power and strength - doing equally well with his tag-team combination of longsword and dagger, was what really set his mind to reeling. How could Zevran's longsword kill a darkspawn much more quickly than his own? Granted, the elf's curved blade looked of Dalish make, but surely that wouldn't account for such a vast difference in performance, would it? The only other conclusion Loghain could come to was age; he was, from what he could tell, older than everyone else fighting melee and, in some cases, decades older. Still, the thought that he may have grown too old to keep up with others in a fight was not one he wanted to dwell on overly long. Instead, he re-focused himself and matched the Warden's strikes and thrusts with resolute vigor.

* * *

However, Loghain was not one to simply let a matter go and rest in peace. When the day's travels and battles were done and camp safely established for the night, he spent the rest of the evening holed up inside his tent. Examining his sword. Dissecting the day's skirmishes. Emerging long enough to borrow Zevran's longsword for appraisal, then disappearing again. Comparing his memory of where his allies had struck the darkspawn alongside where he'd struck them. He felt the answer was an obvious one and was frustrated that it was evading him so elusively. Occasionally, the sound of Leliana's lute and the others' raucous singing and laughing penetrated into his consciousness, but was quickly ignored again. Harder to overlook was the sweet smell of dinner cooking outside and the rumblings in his stomach, but he pushed those distractions out of mind as well.

In fact, Loghain had been so entranced in his studies that when he finally made another appearance outside, he was a bit surprised to find only the Warden sitting beside the campfire, accompanied by her Mabari. She prodded the smoldering pile with a long tree branch, causing the ashes to settle down and softly rekindle the flame. Then, she looked up and almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of him.

"Oh!" she cried. "I, uh... I was just about to come get you for watch." The elf fiddled with the branch a bit before tossing it down at her feet. "You've been gone all night. Everything all right?"

"Yes, of course," Loghain barked immediately, a little more roughly than he had intended. He took a seat on a log diagonally from the Warden.

Kallian flinched and shot him a worried look. "You... aren't angry at me?"

The question struck Loghain unexpectedly. It also seemed completely absurd to him. What in Thedas would make her think he was angry at her? "No," he answered honestly, then warily asked, "Should I be?"

"Oh, good." The elf breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought you might still be sore at me for the prank last night." After all of her efforts at team-building, the Warden feared she may have inadvertantly regressed that progress by helping Zevran make their newest companion the butt of last night's stunt.

"Hardly," Loghain scoffed, then waved a hand in dismissal. "Trust me, Warden, that's the furthest thing from my mind."

Kallian watched him for a while, as if expecting him to elaborate about what _was_ on his mind. Instead, an almost painfully awkward silence answered her. Loghain was not about to tell her that her new recruit was, apparently, a little long in the tooth to be of much use to her battle against the Blight. He sat on his log, jaw set and eyes staring raptly into the fire.

"You fought really well today. I was impressed," she said, sounding genuine. "After seeing you in action against those darkspawn, it's a wonder I ever managed to best you!" She chuckled softly, but it died down to an uncomfortable sigh when she saw his face harden further.

"Then I'm afraid you impress easily, Warden," he remarked, still staring steadfastly into the crackling flames.

The elf kicked at the ground, shuffling her feet. For once, she appeared at a loss for words. Then, the Warden turned and grabbed a small bundle that was sitting next to her on the log. As she carefully unwrapped it, Daveth shot to his feet. The dog looked up at her with watery, large eyes and shook the little stump of tail on his waggling behind, tongue lolling out to form a ridiculous canine grin.

Kallian smirked at him and arched an eyebrow as she stood up. "Sorry, boy, but this isn't for you," she explained sympathetically. She stepped over towards Loghain and cleared her throat to get his attention. The warrior reluctantly tore his gaze from the fire and looked up at her. "Here," she said, pulling the last of the wet wrapping off the large turkey leg in her hand. "I saved this for you from dinner."

To his embarrassment, Loghain's grumbling stomach answered before he could. The Warden gave him a wide, amused smirk. Loghain shot her an annoyed expression, but then grinned wryly as he accepted the proffered meal. "I'm surprised," he said. "Thank you."

"Like I'm going to let my fellow Warden starve to death," she quipped light-heartedly.

"Still... it's appreciated." He held the drumstick up to her for a moment in salute. "My compliments to the huntress."

Daveth watched with desperate eyes, alert in case any morsel should drop, as Loghain hungrily dug in. Kallian shook her head and held her palms up in innocence. "I can't take credit for that," she admitted. "Leliana's the one here with archery skills. That's why my turn at hunting is usually rabbits and other small game. With a bow, I am a menace to everything but the quarry."

Loghain raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I'm not sure I've ever seen an elf who didn't have at least some talent for it, Alienage-born or not. Surely you're selling yourself short."

"Well, then you've met your first," she answered unabashedly, "because that apparently natural elven skill skipped me entirely." She shook her head, looking amused. "It wasn't for lack of trying. Often when the guards would recruit a small party of us for bringing in fresh game for the castle, I managed to tag along. Our group tried to help teach me, but it was disastrous enough that I was finally relegated to skinning duty or else just skipped the outings altogether." She smirked good-naturedly at the memory. "Not even Valendrian had any luck with me, and they all say he was one of the best archers in Ferelden."

In mid-bite, Loghain paused and turned to look searchingly at the elf. "Valendrian, you said?" he asked, sounding skeptical. She nodded. He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Now that is a name I have not heard in a long time. I had no idea he'd settled down in Denerim." He paused. "And he wasn't just 'one of' - he _was_ the best archer Ferelden's ever seen. I was fortunate to have him serve with me."

"I know," Kallian muttered, expression suddenly darkening. "He often told us tales about his days in the Night Elves. All us kids would run around the Alienage playing like we were part of the rebellion, his stories so captivated us." She clenched her jaw, then continued, "He always spoke so very highly of you."

The old general sat back, looking touched by that. After a few moments, he turned towards the Warden again with an almost saddened expression. "It would have been nice to speak with him again, although I am certain that bridge is now thoroughly burned."

The elf bristled, straightening up and crossing her arms over her chest. "Indeed," she growled, "seeing as how he's currently on his way to Tevinter shackled with nineteen of his neighbors."

That revelation shocked Loghain harder than he'd have thought such news might. The slavery deal with Tevinter was not something he was particularly proud of, but he'd felt left with no other options. The war chest was depleted. He'd tried to re-bolster it with as much of his own personal funds as he could, but that did not go as far as he'd hoped. Requesting additional monies from Gwaren's small surplus had been the next option, and it bought him a few more months at best. Every last personal favor that still floated around with old comrades and nobles had been called in. It was not long before the Landsmeet when Loghain finally saw the writing on the wall. There simply would not be enough to gain additional soldiers and keep them armed and armored for any great length of time. That was when Howe had stepped in, suggesting a temporary solution to both their money problems and the recently rioting elves. It was, in all honesty, the last grasps of a desperate man caught up in something that was quickly proving too large to handle alone.

"Oh, _now_ your little Alienage solution doesn't look so great, does it?" Kallian quietly hissed, taking his stunned silence as guilt. "It's a bit different when it has a familiar face stamped on it... when it's more personal, huh?"

Loghain frowned deeply in response. "I've never claimed it was a decision I liked. However, liking something has absolutely nothing to do with understanding that sometimes unpleasant choices must be made for the greater good."

"So you'd sell your soul like that, just because you couldn't see any other options?"

"There_ were _no other options," snarled Loghain defensively. "If you can think of any, then do, please, share them. Ferelden needs all the help she can get at the moment." After listening to the elf's silence, he continued, "That's what I thought. No, Warden, it was not an easy decision and it was not one I made lightly. But I do not regret anything I did for my country." He paused, then gave Kallian an icy, intense stare. "And know this, Warden: I would not only sell my soul, I would destroy it if that is what was required of me to keep Ferelden safe and free. There is _nothing_ I would not do to protect my homeland. Nothing."

Kallian stared at Loghain with a mixture of awe and horror. It was terribly confusing to her, how this man could make her feel both a grudging respect for his dedication and disgust for how low he was capable of going in the name of the greater good. Back in the Alienage, community always came first. She understood well how the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. Yet, were there not some lines that should never be crossed, no matter how dire the circumstances?

Staring the elf down, Loghain continued, "I recall overhearing you say during the Landsmeet that you had been the one to make the hard decisions during your journey. Were you always able to make the happiest choice for everyone in every given situation? Are we really that different, you and I?"

His words struck a chord in the Warden. There had certainly been some hard choices, and even picking what she'd felt were the 'lesser of two evils' didn't always end happily in some cases. She'd been forced to kill angry Bhelen supporters in Orzammar. Her decision down in the Deep Roads led to the death of Oghren's estranged and mentally unstable wife. She'd doomed a templar to the clutches of a desire demon because she'd been unable to bring herself to outright kill him at the Circle Tower. Her premature mercy-killing of an elf-turned-werewolf occurred naught but hours before they were all finally cured. Nearly an entire village was cut down by her command while trying to obtain ashes to cure just one man, simply because she needed his support and army and because her friend had been desperate to save the one surviving father-figure left in his life.

And then there was Redcliffe. Oh, there had been no happy ending at Redcliffe. Against her will, the memory of Lady Isolde struck Kallian the hardest. The woman's face, begging and pleading for her child's life... then the vacant, lifeless expression it held as all the blood from her body was drained to fuel Jowan's magic. The elf could have prevented it, could have taken the risk of traveling to the Circle Tower. But she had been frightened of what the demon might do to the village in that timeframe. So, she, too, had felt left with no other options. She, too, had been forced to make a decision that she did not like. She, too, had permanently damaged a community by removing one of its own. Kallian sighed heavily, so conflicted inside. She knew she was being a hypocrite, but how could she ever overlook his particular sin? _Perhaps not necessarily overlook, _she thought, _but maybe we can at least stop digging at each other over it._

With a deep breath and a firm will, Kallian finally admitted, "No, I suppose we aren't very different in some ways." Then, she flashed him a vaguely annoyed expression. "And why do you always seem to win these arguments, dammit?"

Loghain arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps because I am always right?"

"Pffffft, don't even get me started," she shot back sarcastically. "But I _will _at least cease the vitriol on my end and say let's agree to disagree."

"Fine by me."

"And it's also entirely impossible for me to carry on a long-winded disagreement with a man wielding a half-eaten turkey leg." She smirked. "It's just too ridiculous, honestly."

The warrior developed a faintly amused expression at that and gladly resumed his meal. Kallian plopped down next to him on the log and contemplated Daveth for a moment. The dog was sitting a very short distance from Loghain, but every few moments he would inch a bit closer with his pleading eyes and goofy doggy grin.

"Hey!" the elf barked after Daveth slid close enough to practically crawl into Loghain's lap. "Quit your begging, you!" The dog cocked his head and whined in response.

"He's no trouble..." Loghain chided. He eyed the picked-over drumstick for a moment, then tossed it toward the hovering Mabari. Daveth's entire face lit up bright as a Chantry brazier. He happily picked up the bone, spun a few circles, and settled down at Loghain's feet to comfortably gnaw, back-end purposely facing the Warden.

"Oh, I see how it is," she pouted. "You have a new favorite now, huh?"

The two Grey Wardens sat side-by-side in silence, absently watching the dog chew on his prize. The quiet was not quite as awkward as it had been before, but it was still a bit discomforting to the elf. Sharing watch with her other companions was routine by now, consisting of either idle chatter with some or comfortable silence with others, but always a bonding moment no matter how it was spent. Watches had actually been some of the best one-on-one time she had with the others. After all, almost everyone has a different exterior when other people are around. But the darkness and stillness of a nightly watch had a way of bringing out the more introspective, contemplative aspect of one's personality. With Loghain still being so new to the group - and having been an enemy not too long before that - Kallian felt a lot of nervous energy floating around; although, admittedly, most of it she could attribute to herself.

After an indeterminable length of time, Kallian asked out of the blue, "So, what's your favorite color?"

"What?" Loghain retorted incredulously, turning his head away from the crackling fire to look at her with a raised eyebrow. "Did you just ask me about... my favorite _color_?"

"That I did."

"May I ask what my favorite color has to do with killing darkspawn, bringing down the Archdemon and ending the Blight?"

"Not a damn thing."

"Okay, I feel like I'm talking to the qunari now," Loghain sighed, looking back towards the campfire.

"All right, I'll explain my reasoning," offered the Warden. "Outside of the much-regaled tales and legends, I don't know a thing about you other than my own experiences which, you have to agree, have not been overwhelmingly positive nor favorable up to this juncture."

"Point taken," he conceded. "But you _do_ realize I could say the same about you?"

Not taking the bait, she continued. "You have been with us a very short time, during which you've only really strung together maybe four sentences at a sitting, max. Our longest conversation was the first night in camp when you wanted to know what I expected from you and wished for us to somehow, however awkwardly, smooth over the gaping hole between us that was filled with a year's worth of nasty little thoughts and actions."

"Well, yes," interrupted Loghain. "If we're going to work together, we needed to take care of the 200-pound Mabari in the room, so to speak. Being forced to join the Grey Wardens and serve under my one-time nemesis was the very _last _outcome I expected from the Landsmeet."

"Oh, be honest," the Warden chided. "You did not expect that outcome _at all_."

"Point taken again."

"And you really considered me to be a nemesis at the time?" she asked, suddenly curious.

Loghain sighed again. "Well, you _were_ traipsing about the countryside rabble-rousing, recruiting armies under your flag, telling everyone within breathing distance that Cailan's death was _my_ fault, convincing people of a Blight when I was certain it was no such thing, and generally whipping much of Ferelden into an utter frenzy while absolutely _refusing_ to die no matter what was thrown at you." He turned to look at her again, eyes narrowed. "So, suffice it to say, I was not particularly a _fan_ of yours."

Kallian made a show of shivering. "Oh, the venom you dripped into that is positively impressive! Although, just to clarify, it was my... compatriot... who was mostly pinning the whole 'death of the king' thing on you. But the rest was all me, I'll admit. I am a good frenzy-whipper." After a pause, she puffed out her chest slightly and said, "Well, I am honored, in a way, that you despised me so much. Contrary to popular belief, I did not consider you a hated nemesis. The Archdemon and the darkspawn, yes, certainly. That is - well, _should_ be - a Grey Warden's focus. Always. You were more of a terribly inconvenient thorn in the side."

Loghain looked at her again and arched an eyebrow. "You wound me."

Kallian took a deep breath. "But back to the point I was making..."

"There was a point to all that gibbering?"

"Andraste's flaming knickers, but you are a cheeky little bastard!"

He replied with merely a self-satisfied, lop-sided grin.

"The _point_ I was trying to make," she continued, "is that I have no real way to get a sense of you, what you're all about as a person."

He stared at her pointedly. "One would think 'what I'm all about' is abundantly clear."

Kallian sighed, "_Besides_ being Ferelden's watchdog, Loghain."

"And so," he probed, "my favorite color is some sort of mystical answer that will unlock all my innermost thoughts, feelings, and desires and lay them before you to dissect as you like?"

The elf buried her face in her hands and slowly groaned. She was beginning to wonder just what, exactly, she had gotten herself into by dragging Loghain into her party.

"Did all the others go through this inane question-and-answer session as well?" continued Loghain.

Kallian took a deep breath, then turned on their shared log to face him fully. "Yes, they did and most actually thought it was a bit of fun. Oghren's favorite color is a dark, rich brown - which, being the color of most meads and ales, doesn't really surprise me. Wynne is fond of the darker shades of red. Morrigan favors - not surprisingly - black. Leliana couldn't really pin one down because it would depend on her outfit. Zevran loves green, all shades of it, and - as a random sidenote - also loves the smell of leather. Even Sten answered, eventually, though he made me swear never to tell another living soul."

"I can't help but notice you left out your other Grey Warden."

"Yes, well, I also left out the dog!" Kallian spat, then looked shocked at herself. She had tried to push down her hurt feelings over Alistair's abandonment of the party, but the inner anger that had developed alongside the sadness surprised her. Taking a deep breath and composing herself, she continued more calmly, "What Alistair liked hardly matters anymore since he decided to act like a child and throw a tantrum rather than man up and be a Grey Warden." She stared hard at her own boots. "The point is that sometimes seemingly inane questions provide a better feeling of someone without having to dredge up the murky past, which obviously neither one of us is comfortable enough with the other to do. That's all I was getting at." The elf then fell silent, pulling her legs up onto the log. She turned her head away from Loghain to look out towards the surrounding woods, resting her cheek on her knees.

All was silent for several moments, broken only by the occasional cry of a cricket, the crunching of Daveth devouring the turkey bone, or the popping of a bit of wood in the fire. After a while, Loghain sighed heavily. "Yellow," he answered.

Kallian slowly lifted her head and turned to face him again, disbelief clearly showing in her face.

"A crisp, golden yellow," he answered again, firmly. "Like the color of wheat ripening in the field or of an old map whose paper has aged longer than expected."

The Warden tilted her head curiously. "Fascinating," she responded. "I would've pegged you for something rather drab and dreary, like grey or black."

"Sorry to disappoint, Warden," he scoffed. Looking wistfully towards the campfire again, he continued a bit hesitantly. "My mother used to decorate our home with that color a lot. I think it might've been her favorite, too, though I don't truly know. Between the crops in our field when I was a young boy and the campfires of countless nights with our growing rebel army, yellow has always been an underlying part of my life in a way."

"Maker's breath," Kallian responded in an intrigued and thoughtful tone, "that's rather poetic, that is. Not to mention surprisingly sentimental of you."

Loghain shrugged a bit. "That's me, I guess," he said dryly. "Full of surprises."

"I rather like that," the elf answered with a warm smile. "I do believe I shall enjoy trying to figure you out."

"Good luck with that, Warden," Loghain snorted. After a pause, he added, "Oh, and if it isn't asking too much of you, I'd appreciate if you'd keep it to yourself."

"Keep what to myself?" she asked coyly with raised eyebrows, teasing. "The mystery of your favorite color, the discovery that you are surprisingly poetic and sentimental, or the fact that I am going to enjoy trying to figure you out?" Kallian followed up with a smarmy grin.

"All of the above, preferably."

Kallian smiled warmly again and a friendly light danced in her eyes. She clapped a hand on Loghain's shoulder and patted it, nodding at him and chuckling.

"So," he spoke again, "since it is such an important question, apparently... what's _your_ favorite color then, Warden?"

She threw her head back and laughed, then covered her mouth and tried to chortle to herself quietly, remembering that the two of them were on watch and waking up the rest of the camp wouldn't be very prudent. Plus, it might cut their watch short and Kallian was finding, most reluctantly, that she was rather enjoying this first watch shift with Loghain. "I like purple best, myself," she answered with a firm nod.

"Oh, dear," Loghain breathed sardonically. "A mark of your desire for royalty?"

"Not at all," she answered, rolling her eyes. "The fact that purple is considered a royal color doesn't matter to me. I just find it pretty to look at."

"It's not so pretty when it adorns the tunics of Orlesian chevaliers."

"Really, now, that's hardly fair!" Kallian sputtered. "Dropping an acid flask like that in the middle of a perfectly cordial discussion." She made a face at him, scrunching up her nose as if smelling something unpleasant, and said with a pout, "Conversation killer." She wasn't certain, but she thought her ears picked up the sound of faint chuckling coming from his direction.

Loghain shrugged when she narrowed her eyes at him. After all, purple was not necessarily an entirely negative memory for him. Maric's cloak - the one he had worn while acting as bait on his first mission for the rebellion - had been the same shade. However, it was far more entertaining watching the Warden squirm.

"_Anyway_," she continued more forcefully, rolling her eyes again, "purple intrigues me. Its lightest shade, lavender, adorns plants that are reknowned for their soothing qualities. Its darkest shades, violet, are hard to reproduce without simply getting a dark blue color from the dye. It is also the color of a high dragon's scales, which are no small feat to obtain." At that, the Warden pulled a scale out of a pocket on her breeches. "But mostly I just think it's pretty to look at."

Loghain hissed in a sharp intake of breath and took the scale from her hand, holding it up for study. "You slew a high dragon?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, not technically," she answered. "We had to kill a Witch of the Wilds and she shapeshifted into a high dragon for the battle. But, in essence, she fought like how I imagine a high dragon would. She was certainly a hard bugger to bring down."

Loghain continued to look at her incredulously, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted. "A Witch of the Wilds, you say? The Korcari Wilds?"

"Yes," she answered, "but that is a rather long tale and Zevran is much better at recounting it than I am."

He let that train of thought pass and handed the scale back to Kallian. When she slipped it back in her pocket, he asked, "You always carry it around with you like that?"

"Yes," she tersely answered. Her neck and ears turned a bit pink in sudden self-consciousness. She looked him up and down and said, "I hear tales that your armor came from an Orlesian commander you conquered at the Battle of River Dane. Is it really such an unusual thing to take a trophy from a major victory?"

"Not at all," Loghain answered, "but armor is a bit more practical, wouldn't you agree?"

The Warden was silent for a while, gazing back into the campfire. Loghain was almost certain she wasn't going to answer. A moment later, she explained, "Sten was the one to actually pull off the scale. He had long questioned my ability to lead us against the Blight, even coming to blows over my decisions when we reached Haven during our search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Andraste's ashes?" he interrupted.

"Yes, the very same," she answered, "but Leliana tells that story much better than I. The point is that Sten, though he already trusted me with his life at the time, thought I was too callow to defeat the Archdemon. I did nothing to sway that belief when I had us carefully sneak around the high dragon that guarded the temple where the ashes are located."

"That was actually very practical and smart on your part," Loghain pointed out. "Why engage an enemy that powerful and destructive if you don't have to in order to reach your goal?"

"Oh, I agree," she said. "However, it was no strategy on my part, believe me. I was scared. I didn't want to be responsible for anyone dying on account of any bad decisions on my part. I avoided that confrontation out of cowardice alone and I think Sten sensed that. And I can see his point-of-view on it. I mean, if I am expected - as a Grey Warden - to be the only one capable of killing the Archdemon - which is a dragon, tainted and twisted though it may be - then surely I should be more than able to kill a normal dragon, right?

"Anyway, when we had no choice but to face the witch and defeat her, we did. I struck the killing blow and, shortly after that, Sten brought me the scale. He didn't say a word to me. Didn't have to. Just handed me the scale and gave me a long, meaningful look of respect." Kallian took the scale back out again and watched how it shined in the firelight, turning it over and back again. "I've kept it on me ever since. Whenever I'm feeling uncertain or overwhelmed, I pull it out and look at it. This scale is my reminder of what has to be done. That when the Archdemon finally surfaces, I will be the one to kill it. But that thought no longer frightens me like it once did because I know now that I _can_ do it." Kallian looked over at Loghain and locked her warm, brown eyes on his serious, blue ones. "And I am surrounded by strong and capable allies that can help get me there."

For several moments, all Loghain could do was stare at Kallian with a newfound wonder and grudging respect. Finally, he nonchalantly remarked, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at your success; you beat me."

The Warden's eyes widened and she tried her best to stifle a guffaw. "No offense, Loghain, but you're neither a Witch of the Wilds nor a high dragon."

"No," he admitted, "but perhaps you can do this, after all."

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" she asked testily, raising an eyebrow. "You had your doubts?"

Loghain waved her question aside. "It hardly matters now. I've certainly been mistaken about you before."

Hands on her hips and head cocked to the side, Kallian stated, "Your kinda-sorta-_almost_-compliments are _so _heart-warming, Loghain."

Several longer moments of silence followed before Loghain took a deep breath. "And for what it's worth - which I know coming from me means very little to you - I am... sorry... for what happened with the Alienage." He shot her a hesitant, sideways glance before quickly looking away again. "I do not regret doing what I had to, but that does not mean I cannot be sorry for the consequences of a hard decision. Valendrian certainly deserved a better fate than that, if nothing else."

Kallian gaped openly at him for a minute. Then, with a tearful smile, she said, "Thank you, Loghain." The elf placed an accepting hand on his shoulder. "And you're wrong. That actually _does_ mean something to me."

* * *

Author's Note: Please review, if at all possible, and let me know if it still sucks, has now started to suck, has improved from previous suckage, or is still rocking on hard and heavy! And as before, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

Loghain's Battle Worries definitely bring to mind "As Good As I Once Was" by Toby Keith

The Start of the 'Fireside Chats' was brought to you by "Why Can't We Be Friends?" by War

Loghain's Answer was _not_ inspired by Coldplay's "Yellow" before, but while editing, it popped up on my iPod and I couldn't help but laugh at the timing and irony, so I thought it deserved some mention


	7. Mixed Emotions

Author's Note: Super special thanks go, once again, to **Gene Dark **for being a fabulous beta for me! And, as always, thank you to my helpful reviewers: **Josie Lange, mousestalker, Vocarin, lilachsh, Judy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Shakespira, Harmakhis, jackkel dragon, Alliel 23, **and** Wehaswallhacks**

**

* * *

**

"Another one, Warden?" Loghain asked, his tone somewhere between incredulous and bemused.

Kallian playfully pursed her lips. "Yes, Loghain, I want to ask another one. You promised to give in to my endless string of inane questions so long as I stayed away from personal topics."

"And that _you_ were bound to answering them as well," he reminded, pointing a finger at the elf. "That keeps the questions reasonable and harmless." Loghain gave her a stern look, although his eyes revealed a hint of amusement. It was only a guess on her part, but Kallian suspected he was garnering some level of enjoyment out of these question-and-answer watch sessions, too. If he wasn't, she reasoned, then he'd certainly been going out of his way to accomodate her curiosities these past few weeks.

"So," she proceeded, "what's your favorite food?"

"Now, that's an easy one," he said. "Blueberry muffins."

"Really?" Kallian laughed softly. "Not sure I would've pegged you has a muffin man."

"Ah, Warden," he mused, "that's because you never had one of my mother's blueberry muffins."

"That good, eh?"

"You have no idea," he answered, giving her quite the serious look considering it was a conversation concerning confectionary desserts. "As I have mentioned before, much of my younger life was spent on my family's farm. Just on the outskirts of our fields was a patch of blueberry bushes. Every summer, I'd go down there and pick baskets full for her and she'd never disappoint." He sighed happily, reminiscing. "I still enjoy them on occasion, but nobody can make them quite like she did."

"How was she at pies?"

Loghain shot her a puzzled expression. "Very good. She was quite the baker."

"Then I would've loved to have tried one of her blueberry pies," commented the Warden. "That's my weakness. Put a pie in front of me and I turn into putty in your hands."

"Hmph," he snorted. "Would've been helpful to know that _before_ the Landsmeet."

The elf chuckled. "I can just see the Denerim papers now: 'Anora Confirmed Sole Ruler of Ferelden, All Opposition Overpowered By Virtue of Pumpkin Pie'." As stoic as Loghain usually could be, that comment set him off to quietly cackling. Just as he recovered, Kallian asked, "Do you, uh, remember a rather odd series of pie-related stories in the _Denerim Weekly _a few years back?"

Loghain narrowed his eyes and sifted through his memories for a moment. Then, he glanced over at the Warden and said, "I vaguely recall something about a 'Pie Pilferer'. Nobles' servants and commoner housewives alike were enraged by several pie thefts from off their very windowsills. It was a bizarre enough series of stories that I'm not sure anyone could forget reading about it." He shot her a suspicious look. "Are you saying...?"

Kallian ducked her head sheepishly. "I was the infamous Pie Pilferer of Denerim, yes," she admitted, face flushed. "My cousin, Soris, was the lookout while my other cousin, Shianni, helped me pull off the actual heists. That was about a year or so before I gave up my life of pathetically petty crime and became a law-abiding street entertainer."

The former teyrn sat back and gazed at the elf for a moment. Then, he shook his head lightly in amusement and said, "It really is a small world, isn't it?"

"Amazingly so sometimes," agreed Kallian. "But don't ever tell Sergeant Kylon about my little confession. It would ruin our wonderful love-hate relationship. Now, next question..."

"Maker help me."

"What's your favorite sound?"

"Sound?" Loghain repeated. "Now _that's_ an unusual question." He cocked his head in thought. After several moments, he answered, "The sound of the wind rustling through the leaves. It's a solitary, soothing one."

The elf nodded her appreciation of his answer. "I know I'll sound like a sap," she warned, "but I am most fond of laughter. I believe it's the most genuine and joyful expression anyone can make; there's no pretense or trickery to it, for the most part. I suppose that's why I like to act goofy and help set pranks in motion... sometimes, there's no greater accomplishment than getting even the most stubborn mule in the world to laugh."

Loghain arched an eyebrow at her.

"Yes," she said, smiling, "that includes you, rookie." After a pause, she added, "And to me, there's nothing more pure or rewarding than the laughter of children." Wistfully, she gazed into the campfire.

The warrior regarded her for a long moment. Then, treading carefully, he asked, "Did you have children you left behind, Warden?"

"Not my own, no," she answered, "although I was almost married once." At his quizzical expression, Kallian tensed. "_That's_ a story for another time." She paused, then continued, "But I was a sort of guardian for a group of youngsters in my Alienage. I know, I know, some role model I was, stealing pies and all." She grinned, then laughed. "But you know that old saying, 'It takes a village to raise a child'? It's a bit like that in the Alienage. Most of our learning and discipline comes from our parents, but the community as a whole watches out for everyone's youngsters when they're out playing. Me," she said, pointing her thumb towards her chest, "I've always been a big kid, so I was usually the fun, more playful babysitter. Children seem more easily amused by juggling, sword swallowing, and sleight-of-hand tricks than adults are." The elf glanced away again, collecting her thoughts. Looking back at Loghain, she finished, "I made a killing off that in the Denerim market. Parents were free to shop without their children constantly tugging on their sleeves or complaining of boredom or running off out of sight and getting lost. I used to draw quite a crowd, actually. Good, honest money, it was. Much better than stealing pies." She winked.

Loghain stared at her thoughtfully. "You never felt belittled or demeaned by that, being reduced to just children's entertainment?"

The Warden didn't need to contemplate her answer for long. "Not at all," she said. "Well, maybe to some degree. But to me, what I did was far less demeaning than being some cringing, mewling servant in a nobleman's estate... or worse."

The conversation came to an abrupt stop when the two Grey Wardens heard rustling tent flaps. Loghain quickly turned from Kallian and busied himself with studying the campfire. Kallian looked past him and waved as Zevran and Leliana emerged from their respective abodes. The two rogues smiled and waved back, then leaned in towards each other and whispered. Leliana nodded her head and walked off in the direction of the small stream that flowed near their camp.

Zevran approached Kallian, leaned in, and said quietly, "We're going to go wash up a bit before watch. Be back in a few winks."

"Okay, take your time," the Warden answered, raising an eyebrow. She squinted in thought for a moment while watching her fellow elf's retreating form. Leliana and Zevran were the watch that would bring in the dawn, so going ahead and washing up now made sense. But it still struck her as a bit odd, nonetheless. What had all the whispering been about? _Maybe they have a fling going, _she thought, shrugging. _Eh, good for them, if so. None of my business._

The campfire crackled pleasantly in the silence that followed. Nearby floated the chirp of crickets and, from a distance, the howling of wolves drifted in. While the relative silence carried on, Kallian was surprised to hear Loghain break it.

"Your hearing is naturally sharper than mine," he prefaced. "Are they out of earshot?"

Kallian tilted her head for a moment. "I can't hear either of them eavesdropping, if that's what you're wondering."

Loghain nodded, still gazing steadily into the small fire. After a moment of internal deliberation, he hesitantly asked, "In that case, what was your favorite childhood game?"

The Warden stared at him in wonder for a moment, shocked that her seemingly reluctant conversationalist was now contributing an inane question of his own to her little game. Then, her face lit up into a giant grin and she laughed softly, "See? I _told_ you this would be fun!"

The warrior shot her a vaguely irritated glance.

Kallian tried to stifle her snickering. "Okay, okay, no teasing," she relented. It took her almost no time to think of her answer. "Playing pretend," she said. "I loved nothing more than pretending I was a hero. I was always the knight saving Shianni from the clutches of the evil Soris-Dragon or the brave, lone Night Elf who risked crossing enemy lines to rescue the captured Prince Soris-Maric." She grinned goofily at the recollection.

Loghain chuckled. "Was that good practice for trying to become a real hero now?"

The elf's neck and ears burned bright red and she ducked her head between her shoulders again. "Like I said," she reiterated, "I'm just a big kid at heart."

"Well, it certainly explains why you like to rush into battle so fool-hardily," he remarked. "But somehow I get the feeling darkspawn play for keeps."

"I know," answered Kallian defensively, "but that's why I have you here to watch my back." She winked at Loghain's scowl. "And you haven't answered the question yet yourself."

He glanced in the direction Zevran and Leliana had disappeared. "Are they coming back yet?" he asked cautiously.

The elf listened carefully for a moment. "I still don't hear anything," she answered, playfully giving his shoulder a shove, "so quit your stalling, you."

Loghain pursed his lips and glanced down at his boots. Finally, he answered, "Hide and seek."

The Warden cocked her head in amusement. "That's a rather roguish game for someone who became a warrior."

"Be that as it may, I liked it well enough." He kicked at the dirt for a moment. "There were plenty of good hiding places on the farm. The wheat fields and corn rows, especially."

"Who did you play with?" interrupted Kallian. "Brothers and sisters?"

He shook his head. "I was the only child. Mostly I played with my father, when he wasn't tending the fields. Sometimes I was able to play with the young boy from a neighboring farmstead." Loghain furrowed his brow, trying to remember something. "Rylus, that was his name. Rylus Steward." After a pause, he added, "It was only a few years before the Orlesians drove them off with their high taxes. We didn't last much longer than them."

Seeing Loghain's face start to darken, Kallian quickly tried to shift his thoughts. "So," she asked, "were you a better hider or a better seeker?"

"I was very good at both, actually." Loghain looked over at her and locked serious eyes. "It served me well later in my youth. There was a lot of both hiding and seeking to be done when we were forced to constantly travel after..." He stared back down at his boots again. "Well, after we were no longer able to stay on the old homestead."

Since his mind seemed to keep going back to the same train of thought as if trapped on a loop, Kallian wondered if she could prompt a bit more information out of him instead of trying to derail it by more innocent queries. "The Orlesians sure dealt you a rotten hand, didn't they?"

Loghain's eyes shot back up at her full of fire and the elf realized immediately that she'd made a misstep. "You have absolutely no idea, Warden," he seethed, "_no idea _as to the depths of their depravity."

Kallian couldn't stop herself from bristling. "Oh, I've seen the depths of human depravity, Loghain," she growled. "I walked in on Cousin Shianni being raped by a pompous, contemptible nobleman." She spat, "Ironic description, considering most noblemen are not noble in the loosest sense of the word."

The former teyrn met the Warden's burning eyes. She looked like a wounded animal which, funnily enough, was about how he felt at the moment, too. Rather suddenly, Loghain sensed an unexpected connection with the Warden, a kinship of the same shared misery. So, she also had been forced to witness a family member tortured in such a horrific manner? _Fate and its twisted sense of humor, indeed, _he thought bitterly as her troubled eyes trapped his own for several heartbeats.

The elf watched him closely and carefully. While Loghain's overall demeanor remained its resolute, stern self, his eyes momentarily betrayed him. Where they were usually icy and intimidating, they now appeared meeker. They were softened, almost pained, as if they belonged to a young, hurt boy rather than a gruff, seasoned warrior. "Maker's breath," she whispered as a realization dawned on her, "you've seen a loved one suffer the same fate, haven't you?"

Her ability to read him shook Loghain to his core. Had he really been that transparent? He stared at the ground between his feet, determined not to answer but unsure of what to say next, if anything. Kallian was naturally curious and wanted to know more about that particular strand of memory and to potentially share her own, even though such a thing would break their current rules about question-and-answer. She tentatively reached a hand out towards him, but he pulled away from the attempted touch. She sighed heavily, knowing well enough by now from his expression and body language that the topic was closed to further discussion. It was just as well, for shortly afterwards she heard familiar footsteps returning to camp. Zevran and Leliana greeted the two Grey Wardens, then took a seat by the campfire. Loghain stood up quickly. Kallian followed his lead.

"Goodnight, Warden," he said, voice thick.

She gave him a melancholy smile. "Goodnight, Loghain."

He nodded before disappearing into his patchwork quilt of a tent. The old mage had done the best she could, but his little night terror had not left her much to work with. Some bits had been shredded so badly that a few of his new-found companions were asked to donate scraps of their own clothing to help mend it. It looked rather haggard and downtrodden and liable to collapse at any given moment, but it was shelter and he was grateful for it, nonetheless. He was also grateful for not having to try and repair it himself. He could have, but it had been a while since he'd last had to mend something on the road. Why the Warden had insisted upon asking Wynne was beyond him. It was obvious as day that the healer despised him, what from the shoddy healing job at the Landsmeet to the death scowls and murder-knife glares ever since the start of their journey. But the Warden had insisted upon asking her, against Loghain's better instincts. Something about her thinking Wynne doing something nice for him might help smooth the air between them. That had failed miserably, but then again, this was the Warden's squad to handle, not his.

As Loghain changed out of his watch clothes and slipped inside the bedroll, his mind lingered on the Warden. Not intentionally, mind you, but it did seem that most things revolved around her and her doings these days. Some of the travellers they passed on the road recognized her almost as quickly as they recognized him - although, since his public shaming in Denerim, they seemed quicker to spare kind words to her. It appeared that the Warden had done a lot of good in Ferelden already, Blight notwithstanding, and some were already beginning to address her as "Ferelden's Elven Savior" and the "Hero of Ferelden". Not that Loghain was jealous of the accolades. Quite the contrary, actually. He had not exactly chosen to be one of Ferelden's heroes back when a muddy prince stumbled headlong into him when they'd both only just entered manhood. But fate had chosen that path for him and he filled that role of hero as well as he could, although it was a heavy burden on his shoulders and still, even now, followed him around like a stormcloud, tarnished though his name was in the aftermath of the Landsmeet.

He didn't mean to think on her for much longer, but the Warden was a bit of a conundrum for him. She appeared to have basically two sides to her, but they were so opposite that it was fairly strange they should reside in one person. On one hand, she could be instantly serious and formidable. That much was beat into him fairly quickly during their duel and had only been reinforced the more he fought by her side during their roadside skirmishes. It was obvious she'd spent much time fighting specifically alongside a sword-and-shield warrior. From their very first battle, she immediately - almost instinctively - fell into a perfect flanking cover position near his sword arm. While his shield kept his left side and front safe, the elf was right there at his elbow keeping his other side and back in the clear. Together, they were quite a formidable team. It had only improved as they grew used to each other's natural battle rhythms and movement patterns.

On the other hand, she was almost inexhaustibly friendly and charitable. It was obvious such traits served her well - they had allowed her to collect and, more importantly, keep cohesive an incredibly varied array of personalities, not the least of which now included his self-admittedly dour and difficult self. She also had quite the silver tongue on her, which probably played a factor in the allied armies she'd recruited. It had certainly helped her - who would have been hopelessly looked down upon as an Alienage elf - sway a room full of self-entitled, self-important human nobles against the very one who had been Maric the Savior's right-hand man. Odds were she could probably convince even a magpie to shut up and hear her side of a story and, undoubtedly, said magpie would hop away just as smitten with her as the rest of the country seemed to be. And, as he'd just learned earlier, she managed to retain such a glowing personality in spite of having witnessed terrible events and being saddled with a nearly impossible burden.

Not that being both deadly in battle and skilled in conversation was an altogether unheard of trait. Rowan had been that way. Yet, if Loghain were to describe Rowan with one word, it would be 'fierce.' She had been fierce in battle, but also fierce outside of it - commanding even in the most tame of social functions. When Rowan entered a room, everyone was instantly aware of it. It was part of what had once made her an excellent, natural queen before her untimely passing.

His late wife Celia had been the total opposite. Not that it was a bad departure from his first love, but she had simply been worlds different. Daughter of a humble cabinet maker, whenever Celia entered a room, it was quiet and almost unnoticeable. She floated in on the breeze like a stray flower petal. She had been sweet and soft-spoken, more concerned with caring for her garden of gentle-hued flowers than hearing anything of politics or the troubles of the world at large. Coming home to her had been like taking a nice, country-side vacation from the hustle-and-bustle of Denerim.

The Warden was an odd combination of the two women, a thought that was both unsettling and unwelcome to Loghain. She was both fierce, yet tame. Commanding, but also disarming. While there had not been any rooms to walk into since they'd left Denerim, the elf had an air about her that instantly added a certain glow and charm to the present company. If nothing else, she was an intriguing commander. It was not often that she was forced to actually issue orders; instead, the others seemed to either already know what was expected of them or were able to pick up on her subtle cues and accepted them as readily as any stern command. She had a manner of inspiring directly, sometimes with nothing greater than simply an over-long gaze, and that was a feat that even the most grizzled, cynical general could find reluctantly impressive.

But enough of the Warden; it was time for sleep. However, no sooner had he closed his eyes and drifted off than a most annoying and certainly early-rising sunbeam peeked in one of the hastily-sewn seams and danced across his eyelids.

* * *

Once Kallian was back in her own tent and stripped down to her sleeping clothes, she found it rather difficult to actually fall asleep. She laid on her back, hands tucked behind her head, and gazed absently up at her painted ceiling. A scene depicting the star-filled sky gazed down at her, softly lit by a lantern-contained glowball she'd acquired from the Dalish. The elf had not been lying when she'd told Loghain, back during Zevran's prank, that she didn't have many useful talents. She didn't, as far as she could tell. She couldn't use a bow to save her life. She was also incapable of mixing healing potions and even more dangerous trying to make poisons. Her mother had tried hard and, eventually, given up attempting to teach her to actually cook or sew worth a hoot. In fact, about the only talent Kallian felt she possessed - other than the dagger-fighting Adaia had taught her - was her entertainer and artistic skills. She could juggle, she could swallow blades, she could perform small magic tricks using sleight-of-hand. But better than all of that, she could draw and paint. Fat lot of good that did against darkspawn, but it at least served to soothe her mind after a day's worth of travelling and fighting.

And so, inspired by the painted skyball she'd found, she had finger-painted the inside of her tent to look like the night sky on a clear and cloudless evening. Serene. Peaceful. Calming. The outside of her tent was an entirely different matter; it was a hodge-podge of seemingly random colors and designs. Loghain had already torn her down mercilessly over it, but there it was, all the same, and it wasn't going to change.

_Speaking of change... _she thought, mind wandering. The elf gazed up at the artificial stars and wondered at how quickly her perspective of Loghain had begun to change. Just a few mere weeks ago, they had been fighting each other tooth and nail at the Landsmeet. _And now look at us, _she mused, _something you could almost call friends or kindred spirits. _In fact, in her mind, she already considered Loghain a friend of sorts. The feeling was pretty bizarre, given the fact that she never thought she would get past what he'd done to the Alienage. And it still rubbed her that he didn't regret it, meaning that, given the choice to do over again, he'd still make the same call. But his apology for the outcome of his hard decision had gone a long way in softening her regard for the old general, as well as the most recent revelation into his sordid past.

She'd no idea how he felt about her, but the elf certainly looked more kindly upon him now than she first had. The Warden smiled to herself, feeling reminded of how her friendship with Sten had first started. Carefully guarded, but eventually evolving into one of mutual respect and care. Kallian had rescued him from a cage in Lothering, and that thought naturally reminded her of Leliana, whom she'd also first met in Lothering. She and Leliana had hit it off almost instantly, both being able to relate to entertaining the public by day and being sneaky rogues by night. The two girls had taken a shine to each about as quickly as...

Kallian's reminiscing trailed off for a moment. That path led to memories that were now painful. She and Leliana had hit it off just as quickly as she and Alistair had, despite the Warden's own troubled encounters with humans up to that point. From their very first meeting at Ostagar, the humorous and quirky almost-templar had quickly taken a cherished spot in the elf's heart. Kallian rolled over onto her side and stared at the small bag that held the figurines Alistair had once adored. A part of her wanted to try and not think of him ever again, as impossible a goal as that may be. Another part of her felt almost guilty for starting to like Loghain, as if such a feeling were yet another betrayal against her old friend.

Feeling completely restless now, the Warden sat up on her bedroll. Within arm's reach was her beloved sketchbook, which she grabbed and began thumbing through. Some of the exaggerated companion caricatures made her giggle softly. The better ones, in her opinion, were what she'd coined the "comparison pieces", which were basically exaggerated portraits of each companion next to an animal of which they reminded her: Zevran's slinky, smiling mug next to an equally slinky, smiling tomcat; a broody Morrigan glaring beside a stalking wolf; Leliana singing alongside a tweeting songbird. Kallian smiled warmly down at her friends as she turned the pages. Then, she found the drawings she'd been looking for and stared at them for a long time. From the left page, dual faces smiled goofily up at her - Alistair with his cheeky grin and a puppy with a wide-mouthed, tongue-hanging-out expression of pure joy. The right page featured a caricature of her and Alistair standing side by side and utterly beaming, each with an arm wrapped around the other, underneath a caption that read: "Best Friends For Life".

Kallian sighed and ran a thumb softly across Alistair's shiny splintmail. "I wonder where you are now?" she spoke softly and quietly to the drawing. She bit her lower lip, but kept her tears in check. "I'll always love you, my brother. I hope that you will eventually move beyond the hurt. Maybe you will find a nice girl and settle down for what shortened life you have left. Maybe you will travel to the Anderfels and move up in the Grey Warden ranks. I hope you do one of those. And perhaps we will see each other again at our Callings to the Deep Roads." She sighed, then thought silently, _I hope that you do not dwell on all of this and become a hopeless, depressed drunk. Like I might feel inclined to do if I wasn't charged with saving the world._

Taking a deep breath, the Warden flipped forward many pages ahead, trying to focus her mind on less painful things. Coincidentally, she landed on the rather unflattering sketch she'd made of Loghain the night Zevran pulled her into his most recent prank. The caricature was greatly exaggerated, featuring very baggy eyes that spat venom from above a hooked nose and scowling lips, all above a spiky caption that said: "Not Exactly Prince Charming". In the corner, she'd drawn an accompanying image of a vulture's beaky, menacing stare. Kallian snorted down a laugh thinking about what mood she must have been in when she'd conjured up that pair of images. Then, she skipped forward to a blank page, took up her charcoal pencil, and began working on a nicer sketch, one that was more realistic, featuring Loghain's sculpted profile gazing into the campfire as he had just done so with her on watch earlier. _Perhaps, _she pondered, _I will add a falcon's noble head for a better comparison._

She'd only been working on the new sketch for a half-hour when a sudden inspiration struck her. The idea was so clear and distinct in her mind that she had to abandon her current project and work on this one right away. So, she flipped a few blank pages forward, just to ensure it was well hidden in case any prying eyes happened upon her journal, and began to draw out the image that had come to her.

* * *

As the group continued their long journey south, Leliana was nervous. Not about a darkspawn ambush or any other potential physical danger, but about the outcome of her pending confrontation with the Warden. She dreaded it. The last thing she wanted was to possibly upset her friend. But she was concerned for her and had recently learned that Zevran shared that same concern. The two of them had discussed the situation and their shared worries during last night's watch, and they'd come to the determination that they would confront the Warden with it today.

Readying herself, Leliana glanced back at Zevran. The assassin caught her eyes and gave her a firm nod. After a few deep breaths, the red-head put on her casual face and sped up to walk alongside the Warden, who was flanked, as usual these days, by their newest companion.

"Really, Loghain," Kallian chided, "I appreciate the offer, but I fear I'm a lost cause."

"Nonsense," he insisted. "Longbows are harder to learn. Why anyone tried to start you out on that is ridiculous. I can get you a good, decent shortbow and you'll be bringing home the venison in no time."

"Well, that _would _be better than trying to scrounge up enough rabbits to feed everyone," she admitted with a smirk. "But what makes you so confidant you can succeed where others have failed so miserably?"

"I wouldn't just give up on you and relegate you to skinning duty, for one," grumbled Loghain. He arched an eyebrow at her. "And I was also quite the marksman back in my prime."

"You mean to say you're not in your prime now?"

"Well, I'm..." he floundered, remembering how much he struggled to bring down the darkspawn as quickly as the others. "I'm certainly no spring chicken."

Kallian gazed at him long and hard, looking him up and down. Loghain would never admit it, but her sudden, intense scrutiny left him feeling rather flustered. Then, it struck him just how ironic that was, given that it was usually his own stare that caused such reactions in others. Finally, the Warden broke the uncomfortable silence. "I think you're too hard on yourself, rookie."

As Zevran pulled up alongside Loghain, Leliana loudly cleared her throat. Kallian jumped and turned to look at her. "Sorry, Lel. Didn't see you there."

"Loghain?" asked Zevran.

"Hmph?" he grunted, giving the assassin a sidelong glance.

"I think Oghren wanted to talk to you about something."

"The dwarf?" He narrowed his eyes and scowled. "What about?"

The elf shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me."

Loghain shot him an annoyed expression, then sighed and dropped back in the ranks. When she was sure the warrior was out of earshot, Leliana moved closer to the Warden. "We need to talk."

Kallian looked concerned in response to the bard's rather serious tone of voice. "Oh?" she asked. "What's on your mind?"

"You..." she said, preparing herself to go over it just as she and Zevran had practiced. "You seem to be spending a lot of time with Loghain."

"And?" asked Kallian, raising an eyebrow. "I have much to teach him about being a Grey Warden. I need to spend time with him so he can be better prepared."

"That's understandable," Leliana continued, "but you've stopped the watch rotations. And I couldn't help but notice you picked Loghain as permanent watch partner."

The Warden felt heat creeping up into her neck and ears and tried to ignore it. "Doing so has helped me get to know him better. You know, kind of like how I got to know all of you better." She gave the bard a pointed look.

"And this can't be done in the evenings while the rest of us are awake?"

Kallian made a frustrated grunt. "Well, no, not exactly. He doesn't open up in front of the others the way he does when it's just the two of us."

Leliana watched her friend carefully. She was getting defensive, just as the bard feared she might. However, from the corner of her eye, she spotted Zevran giving her some backup by tapping the Warden's shoulder.

"Do you trust him?" the Antivan asked, a serious expression also adorning his features.

Kallian looked over at him in surprise. "Erm..." she struggled for a moment, before furrowing her brow, "well, yes, I do, actually. He's given me no cause for concern since recruiting him."

"I was afraid you would say that," Zevran said, shaking his head. "You trust too easily, Kal."

"So says the person whose life I spared on nothing more than chance, a good feeling, and an assassin's oath of honor."

That stung, but Zevran pressed forward in spite of it. "But you have to admit that, unlike Loghain, I had no personal vendetta against you, so I was more believable, yes?"

Kallian gave him a serious look, hackles thoroughly raised by the unpleasant conversation. "That still didn't stop Alistair from wanting me to put an end to you, lest you finish the job while I slept. So far, you haven't done so. And neither has Loghain."

"Look, Kal, we're not trying to upset you or... or question your judgment," Leliana pleaded. "We're your friends. We care about you. We just want to caution you to be on your guard."

"Why now?" asked the Warden. "Why now, all of a sudden? Why not weeks ago back when I first dragged him in?"

"Because," said Zevran, "if he were going to betray you, now would be the time."

"How's that?"

"Kal, you know what Zevran and I both were in our pasts," Leliana stated. "The easiest way to assassinate a target is when you've just lulled them into trusting you."

The Warden remained silent for a moment, getting all of her thoughts and feelings in check. Then, she finally said, "I know you two are just looking out for me and I appreciate that. But I don't think we have anything to worry about." She smirked. "Besides, it's not exactly like I've invited him to my tent or anything."

Before Leliana or Zevran could come back with a witty retort, an ear-splitting shriek rose up from out of the nearby woods. Kallian stopped in her tracks, searching around. The bard appeared confused and asked, "What is it?"

"You didn't hear that?" the Warden asked.

"I did," Zevran answered.

As the two elves gave each other a knowing look, Daveth came bounding up, ears pinned back against his head, growling and staring at the treeline. Another scream racked through their bodies. Needing no more confirmation that something was wrong, Kallian rushed off towards the sounds of yelling, shrieking, and igniting combat. The others quickly followed her lead.

* * *

Loghain dropped back in the group until he was beside the dwarf, who was in the middle of a debate with the qunari.

"Because it'll be fun competition, that's why!" explained Oghren.

"It does not matter how many we each kill," replied Sten, "so long as we kill as many of the enemy as possible."

"Bah, you're a sissy!" Oghren complained, waving a dismissive hand at the qunari. "Still bet I can down more of 'em in a single stroke than you."

"Drinking early again, I see," Loghain observed, eyeing the dwarf in disgust.

Oghren didn't even bother hiding the flask at his side. Instead, he held it up in a salute. "You're damn skippy!" Then, he took another swig and belched in satisfaction.

"Disgraceful," Sten rumbled.

Loghain continued, "This can't possibly aid you in battle."

"You'd be surprised," Oghren answered. "Betcha I can fell more darkspawn than you."

Not wishing to go down that particular conversational road, Loghain switched tracks. "The Antivan said you wanted to see me."

The dwarf shot him a confused expression, scratched his beard in thought, then shook his head. "Not that I can think of. Sure you ain't been drinking, too?" He guffawed at his own little joke.

Loghain narrowed his eyes suspiciously and looked back up at the two rogues flanking the Warden. Judging by Kallian's gestures, the conversation was becoming rather heated. He wondered what they were arguing and was about to walk back up to the front when a new voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

"What are you playing it?"

It was the old healer's usual venom. He spun around to face her, instantly irritated, and bellowed, "I beg your pardon?"

"She's young, but she's no fool," Wynne affirmed, staring fixedly at the former teryn. "She hasn't forgotten what you've done."

"Madam," Loghain sneered, "I have no idea what you're trying to suggest. Speak plainly. If you wish to accuse me of something, do it."

"Oh, I have so many things to accuse you of, Loghain Mac Tir, that I hardly know where to begin," she huffed. "But I'll save them for another time. For the moment, know that I am watching you. Don't think a few friendly words for the Warden will put everyone off their guard."

Loghain sighed and rolled his eyes. "If watching me amuses you, madam, feel free. Now, if you don't mind, I have things to attend to." With that, the warrior sped back up, intent on returning to the Warden's side. He was almost there when she suddenly stopped, causing the whole train of followers to stop behind her. As he picked his way through the caravan, he saw her suddenly dart off towards the treeline to their left, Leliana and Zevran in tow. Loghain quickly followed.

* * *

As Kallian crashed through the woods, following the desperate cries within, her body became filled with the familiar, edgy nervousness that only nearby darkspawn could produce. The only silver lining to that was it gave her the ability to better pinpoint just where in the forest the attack was commencing, instead of trying to rely on her ears alone. After several tense moments, she and the others stumbled upon a well-worn, dirt path that cut through the thick brush. The elf turned south on the road and continued her sprint.

Before long, they reached a small clearing and were met with a grisly scene. All around them lay the remnants of what appeared to have recently been either a trading or refugee caravan. Wagons sat overturned. Produce and linens spilled out, some half-trampled in the panic of the ambush. Oxen harnessed to the carts were ripped wide open. Bodies of men and a few young boys lay freshly dead. In the middle of the wreckage, a company of darkspawn stood triumphant, led by a large alpha hurlock pulling its twisted blade from the final victim. However, Kallian quickly observed that this was no normal group of darkspawn - for within the circle of soldiers stood a small group of frightened women and young girls.

"Oh, Maker," she breathed. "It's a raiding party."

The elf stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what the best means of rescue might be. Then, unable to come up with anything better, she unsheathed her daggers and charged the group. She heard the battle cries of her party falling in behind her. And then everything turned into chaos. Blades cried and rang all around as they met in battle. Gurgles of dying darkspawn impaled upon longswords and axes or pierced by arrows and primal magic. Metallic thuds of black swords hitting Loghain's shield. Grunts and shouts of her team members calling out warnings.

What instantly captured the Warden's attention were the terrified screams of the women. Where they had been relatively normal screams, they were now suddenly being cut off. The elf looked around for a moment, trying to locate the hostages, fearing that the darkspawn were killing them in the melee. When she finally saw them, it was much worse: their cries were being cut off as the darkspawn not engaged in the battle dragged them back underground with them.

"The women, get to the women!" Kallian shouted.

As if they understood her intentions, the darkspawn began disappearing with their victims much more quickly. She spotted Sten run up, grab a genlock by the neck, and heave it several feet away. The young girl it had been holding made a mad dash for the freedom and safety of the treeline. Just as she reached the bushes, a black arrow sank in between her shoulderblades. Kallian bared her teeth and looked over at the direction from which the arrow had come. A genlock stood with bow in hand, notching another arrow and ready to loose it into any other fleeing survivors.

With a roar of rage, the Warden ran towards the archer. Hearing her approach, the darkspawn turned in her direction. As she closed the distance, it drew a bead on the elf. Kallian's eyes widened as she realized she probably wouldn't reach the genlock in time before it shot her. Just as she was about to tuck and roll to try and avoid the arrow, her view was suddenly obstructed by Loghain's backside. He fell in between the two and led the charge shield-first, serving as a blocker for Kallian. He bowled the archer over, and the Warden cleaned up behind him with a swift dagger stroke to the neck.

"Excellent timing, rookie," she quipped as she fell into her usual flanking position.

"I try."

The two Grey Wardens fought side by side, trying to work their way towards the remaining few women. From the corner of her eye, Kallian saw something that momentarily lifted her heart with hope: Zevran hurriedly escorted one of the women to the safety of the surrounding brush, while Oghren cleared a path for them and Daveth guarded the rear. However, a nearby scream brought her back into focus. She turned and quickly gutted a darkspawn, then spotted the last captive being dragged underground by the alpha hurlock.

Loghain left Kallian's side and rushed forward. Tossing his sword and shield aside, he dove and just caught hold of the woman's hand before she completely disappeared. Rising to his knees, he got a good grip on the captive's hand with both of his and began to steadily pull. The hand rose up, followed by her arm, then a peek of shoulder. Loghain carefully regained his footing and continued to pull up. As more of the woman became visible, her rise back to the surface suddenly stopped. Then, she started disappearing back down again, leaving muffled screams in her wake. A macabre tug-of-war session followed with Loghain struggling with all his might to pull the woman back up to safety.

After a few moments of straining, there appeared to be a stalemate with only the woman's hand and arm visible aboveground. As Loghain renewed his efforts, the resistance at the opposite end suddenly gave way and the warrior fell crashing backwards. He slowly sat up and saw the Warden running up towards him, a few of the others trailing behind her. When she looked down at his right hand, her face turned horrified. Not sure if he really wanted to look, Loghain dragged his eyes down and felt equally horrified. There, still grasped tightly, was the hand and arm of the woman he'd been trying to save. It was all that was left of her, severed cleanly just below the shoulder by the hurlock that would not be denied its quarry. Loghain dropped it in disgust, then miserably hung his head between his knees.

"You tried," Kallian said softly, patting him on the shoulder. He gave no response and continued staring glumly at the ground. The elf sighed and looked around at the swath of death and destruction, feeling heavy-hearted. "How many were we able to save?" she asked, looking around at her other companions hopefully. She was answered by a round of gloomy expressions. "Anyone? Anyone at all?" she asked, suddenly crestfallen. Surely the entire endeavor had not been a total failure, had it?

Zevran stepped forward meekly. "Oghren and I helped one to the forest. I told her to run to the main road and pointed the way for her." He shrugged. "After that, I don't know. We went back into the battle."

The Warden pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "So, we have one maybe." She sighed, then kicked the body of a nearby darkspawn corpse. "Son of a bitch!" she growled, kicking it again. And again. And again.

"Where are they taking them?" Loghain asked heavily. A terribly uncomfortable silence followed. Kallian turned back around to face him. He was still sitting on the ground, head hung down. He absently rubbed a hand over his face. "Don't everyone answer all at once," he drawled.

The Warden shook her head, frowning severely. "You don't wanna know."

"Tell me."

"She's right," added Morrigan. "You really don't want to know."

_"Tell me!"_

Kallian closed her eyes and sighed. "To the Deep Roads."

After several moments of silence, Loghain pushed the issue. "To do what? To feed?"

"No," grumbled Oghren, looking completely sober, "to breed."

Loghain's head shot up at that, a look of total uncomprehension on his weathered face. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's true. We saw one in the Dead Trenches," Leliana confirmed. "It was awful, just awful."

"They're called broodmothers," Kallian continued, eyes still closed. "Darkspawn capture women, drag them underground, then do... horrible, unspeakable things to them. I don't remember the exact process-"

"-I distinctly remember something about spewing into their mouths," Morrigan interrupted. The Warden suddenly opened her eyes and glared at her. "Wasn't that how the little insane dwarf's poem went? 'And into their mouths they spew.'"

Ignoring Morrigan's callous additions, Kallian finished, "But, needless to say, the process drives them mad and corrupts their bodies and minds, turning them into... into monstrosities. And then they produce more darkspawn."

Loghain stared at the Warden, his expression a mixture of disgust and horror. His thoughts suddenly turned back to the female soldiers he'd left behind at Ostagar. Death was the kindest fate they could have hoped for, given this most recent bit of disturbing news. "You were absolutely right," he said shakily. "I didn't want to know."

Suddenly, Daveth interrupted the post-battle lamenting and bounded into view. The Mabari hopped around the Warden, looking quite frantic and barking with urgency. Eyebrows crinkling in concern, Kallian leaned over, placing her hands on her knees. "What is it, boy?"

The Mabari whined plaintively, took a few steps away from her, then looked back over his shoulder at his master and barked again.

"I think he wants you to follow him," Loghain said, although Kallian was able to take the dog's hint well enough on her own.

The elf reached back and re-drew one of her daggers, then followed her hound. She didn't need to turn around to know Loghain was right behind her, following suit, as the others remained where they stood, warily watching their commander and tensed to leap into battle once more at the first sign of trouble. Daveth led the duo to an overturned wagon at the edge of the impromptu battlefield. It was not unlike the other wooden wagons in the caravan, other than it had no canvas topper on the back. Instead, the cart sat flush against the ground save for two places. In the middle was a little "cave entrance" where, when right-side up, passengers would use the opening to step up into the wagon seats. At the front of the wagon, the body of the unfortunate cart driver was pinned halfway under and halfway exposed.

Daveth loped straight to the upside-down "U" in the side of the wagon and began whimpering again. He dug at the ground for a moment as if he might tunnel a way underneath. Kallian called him aside and he obeyed, moving out of her way and watching the events unfold with vigilant eyes. Holding Fang tightly in her right hand, the Warden stooped down to peer inside the opening when Loghain's shield suddenly dropped down in front of her and blocked her view. She turned and looked up at him, appearing perturbed.

"Warden," he suggested, "if anyone is going to risk having their eyes gouged out by the unknown, I'd rather it be me than you." With that said, he kneeled down beside her. They exchanged one more surly stare-down before the elf rolled her eyes and moved aside. Loghain, crouched down behind his shield, carefully peered around the side of it and into the darkness beneath the wagon. When nothing immediately leapt out to claw his face off, he inched closer. Nothing moved nor made a sound. Slowly and very tentatively, he stuck his head through the opening. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

From the side, Kallian watched. As Loghain's head disappeared from view, she nervously bit her lip. While she was secretly flattered that he'd offered himself up as the potential casualty, she'd never forgive herself if some unholy creature bit his head off. It felt like an eternity before Loghain's head re-emerged and he sat back on his haunches. Setting his shield aside, he turned to the Warden with a slightly perplexed expression on his face.

"We may have a little problem here."

* * *

Author's Note: Well, enough folks have asked me why I think this story may suck and here's my answer: I don't. I actually really like my story, but then again, I'm biased. But I just wanted to put it out there that any kind of reviews are welcomed and, if it ever starts sucking, be sure to alert me so I can improve! And as before, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

Kallian and Loghain's Question-and-Answer Session was brought to you by "Young Folks" by Peter Bjorn and John... and, for a purely instrumental piece, I couldn't stop listening to "Forbidden Friendship" from the _How to Train Your Dragon _soundtrack (and yes, the irony of that particular track title was not lost upon me)

Loghain and Kallian's Post-Watch Ponderings were sponsored by "Mixed Emotions" by The Rolling Stones

The Aftermath of the Failed Rescue Attempt was done to the tune of "Let It Be" by The Beatles


	8. And Now We Have A Child

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait folks! Many thanks go to **Gene Dark **for going through both the original draft and the re-write of this chapter. Hopefully, everyone can pry themselves off DA2 long enough to check it out! :)

As always, thank you to my wonderful reviewers: **Josie Lange, jackkel dragon, Judy, Alliel 23, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Shakespira, **and** EpitomyofShyness**

**

* * *

**

Ducking her head underneath the wagon just as Loghain had done, Kallian saw that he had been quite literal in his report. As a pair of small, frightened eyes stared back at her, she saw that they did, indeed, have a problem and it was, indeed, a little one in stature. Putting on a friendly, non-threatening smile, the elf cooed and coaxed the hidden creature until it finally began to crawl towards her. She leaned back and watched, as fascinated as the others, while a diminutive figure emerged from the opening.

The little creature was, in fact, a female child. A second later, Kallian mentally gasped as she caught a glimpse of the ears: it was an elven child. The little girl could not have been older than three or four years old. She wore a torn, muddied sky blue sundress. Wide, terrified green eyes stared out from a chubby, cherub-like face with a dainty, slightly upturned nose. Pointed ears stuck out from ebony hair tied back in a pair of twin pigtails that tickled her shoulders. And as if she were not cute and helpless-looking enough, tightly clutched to her chest was a raggedy stuffed animal - a likeness of an orange cat, sadly missing one of its legs.

"Oh, this is bad," Morrigan said, leaning in to whisper in Loghain's ear.

"What?"

"The Warden has a most unfortunate condition," the apostate quietly explained. "She is completely incapable of passing another living being in distress _without _stopping to help. It does not matter what it is, be it man, woman, elf, dwarf, child, puppy, kitten, or fledgling bird. 'Tis a chronic, insufferable problem. Pity I've found no cure yet."

"Hmph," chuffed Loghain. "Maric suffered the same condition."

Oblivious to the critique going on behind her back, Kallian crinkled her forehead in thought and concern. Bending down so she was at eye level with the elven girl, she asked, "What's your name, little one?"

The child stared at her, still wide-eyed, and shook her head.

"Well, I see this won't be easy, will it?" murmured Kallian. "Can you tell me where you're from? Do you have any other family we could bring you home to?"

Again, a scared, sad shake of the head. The lost child followed up by sticking a thumb in her mouth and holding her beloved toy against her cheek. She was completely overwhelmed by the situation. There had been scary monsters and fighting all around, her father had stopped moving, her mother was missing, and now she was surrounded by strangers asking her questions she couldn't answer. It was just too much for a little one to take in all at once. So, not knowing what else to do and emotionally overloaded, she began to cry and wail.

Instinctively, the Warden scooped the child up and cradled her against her shoulder. Kallian shot Wynne and Leliana a worried look as she swung her torso side-to-side in an attempt to rock her. As she had told Loghain before, she'd had some experience with watching after children, but most of that experience was during playtime. Happy times. Occasionally, a child would trip and skin a knee, requiring some first aid and emotional comfort. But when it came to caring for one in the wake of a personal tragedy, she felt completely uncomfortable and out-of-place. It always hit her too close to home.

_Home. Kallian was home again and she was twelve years old. She was standing near her front doorstep. Her mother lay dead in a widening pool of blood. Some of that blood had splattered on her in the initial attack. Kallian stared at the front of her blood-speckled shirt. She wasn't sure how she felt at the moment. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. Her father stood just off to the side. He and Valendrian had arrived too late for her mother. Shianni hid just behind Cyrion, peeking around him, unsure of what to do. She had run off to get Valendrian and Cyrion when the men had first arrived. Valendrian had run the men off, but her father just stood there. _

_The elder came back and looked over the scene. He tried to talk to her father, but he wouldn't move, staring with wide eyes that made Kallian feel even more frightened. Valendrian then came over to her and knelt down. Kallian could see his lips moving, could see the emotion in his face and his eyes, but she couldn't hear anything he was saying. She was sure the elder was speaking words of wisdom and comfort. He was always so wise and so soothing. He always knew the answer to everything, always made sense of everything. Sometimes, Kallian thought she loved him more than her father, but she did not think long on it because that was wrong and disrespectful. Of course she loved her father. But in times of crisis, her father shut down while Valendrian pushed them all through it._

_But she could not hear his words of wisdom now. The world was suddenly very small and very scary. Her mother was dead. It was starting to sink in now. Her mother lay dead on their doorstep. Her neck was sliced open. Her blood was on Kallian's shirt. She would never hear another lullaby sung to her at bedtime. Would never again hear her mother's exasperated sigh when Kallian showed little interest in learning to sew. Would never again see her mother's self-satisfied smirk during a successful, secret dueling lesson. Would never again feel her mother's warm body against hers as they hugged goodnight and told of how much they loved each other. Her mother would never get to see her grow up and get married. Her mother would never become a grandmother. Her mother was dead and gone forever._

_Valendrian's lips stopped moving. His eyes grew concerned and he placed his hand on Kallian's shoulders, shaking her gently and forcing her to look straight at him. And that's when the full weight of the situation hit her and her world collapsed into darkness and tears._

As if picking up on Kallian's own swirling emotions, the child screamed and sobbed even louder. Oghren squinted his eyes in pain. Morrigan shot the Warden an annoyed glare. Zevran returned a helpless shrug. Sten stared at the child, twitched, then began scanning the perimeter with his eyes.

"This is not good," the qunari grumbled. "Distressed cries attract predators, darkspawn or otherwise."

"Not to mention it's giving me a headache," Morrigan growled. "Shut it up."

Their comments shook Kallian out of her memories and she furrowed her brows, frowning at the witch. "_She's _a child. They don't exactly have a lever to pull or button to press to quiet them down." Glancing at each of her companions once more, she tried to determine who might be able to offer some help. Despite the solace offered to her by Valendrian and - once he'd gotten over his shock and grief - her father, none of it seemed to really help her deal with her mother's death. So, she'd always felt that anything she tried to offer someone in a similar situation would ring just as hollow and unhelpful.

Of the assembled group, there were only two that she knew to have had children: Wynne and Loghain. As she recalled, the mage's son had been taken from her at birth by the Chantry, as was the custom. That left her with only one experienced choice. "Loghain," the Warden entreated, shuffling in his direction, "you had a daughter. Do you mind giving me a hand here?"

"Ah, well..." The former teyrn instantly looked apprehensive, which was a relatively rare sight. He sighed, "Truth be told, Warden, I was not present for as much of Anora's upbringing as I should have been. And when I was, I don't think I'd have won any awards for my parenting skills."

"You've more experience than the rest of us," she reasoned. "Please, Loghain."

"You _do_ realize you could simply order me to take the child off your hands?" he drawled. "You're my commander, after all."

"I'd never order you to do something you were uncomfortable with," answered Kallian, "but I _would_ be most appreciative of the help." She gave him another heartfelt, pleading look complete with ever-so-slightly crinkled eyebrows.

_No wonder she's gathered such a force around her, _Loghain mused. _She makes it rather difficult to outright deny her anything. _It also very much reminded him of Maric, who had shared much the same mannerisms and charms. The late king had, too, been very good at getting Loghain to comply with his wishes. However, Loghain quickly shut down that line of thought as it was not a comparison he wanted to dwell on. "Fine," he half-sighed, half-growled, "hand the girl over to me."

"Thank you, Loghain," she said, carefully transferring the little elf to his arms. He replied with a rather chagrined expression.

The gruff warrior held the child a bit awkwardly. It had been, after all, quite a long time since Anora was that age. However, after several moments, the natural instincts started coming back to him. He carefully cradled the girl with his right arm, leaning her against his armored shoulder, and lightly bounced her up and down. Soon enough, her crying wound down to the occasional sob, which eventually died off all together. With her head resting on top of Loghain's pauldron and her stuffed toy clutched protectively under an arm, she quickly fell asleep.

"Well, I'll be..." remarked Leliana.

"'Tis rather amusing, I must admit," Morrigan added.

Loghain narrowed his eyes at the pair. Then, he turned his furrowed brow to the Warden, who was looking at him with a cocked head and mischievous smirk, hands resting casually on her hips.

"I'll be nice," she said. "I won't say anything." Instead, she turned to address the others. "All right, everyone, listen up. Wynne, go back to the main road and let Bodahn know he can bring the wagon down here. We'll follow this road further into the forest for now. Sten, Oghren, gather the bodies of the caravan together and set them burning. I'll not leave them here to rot with the darkspawn carcasses. Lel, Morrigan, start gathering anything that looks useful and load it up in the wagon. Zevran, come over here and help me turn this cart back over."

As everyone dispersed and Kallian turned to get a grip on the overturned wagon, Loghain tapped her shoulder with his free hand. She turned and looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"What would you have me do?" he asked quietly, trying not to wake the child.

"Well, I'd say your main job at this point is to keep her safe, quiet, and happy," said the Warden before turning back to the task at hand.

With Zevran's assistance, the two elves managed to flip the cart back onto its wheels. With that out of the way, Kallian was able to dig through the few sacks and chests that had been hidden underneath. It was obvious the vessels had belonged to the elven girl's parents, for the insides were quite sparse and the few belongings inside were well-worn. Some articles of clothing were nearly thread-bare. However, Kallian was finally able to locate a knapsack that contained a few sets of small clothing and toys - obviously belonging to the child. She gently picked it up and set it aside so she wouldn't forget to bring it along. Zevran approached the body that had been partially pinned under the wagon and carefully turned it over. As the black hair fell away from the man's face, his similar facial structure and pointed ears identified him as having been the child's father.

"Such a shame," the Antivan remarked. Then, after a moment's pause, "Should I go add him to the makeshift pyre?"

The Warden gazed at the still face for a moment, then looked over at the little girl sleeping in Loghain's care. "No," she said, "not yet. Give me a few minutes."

Kallian jogged over to Bodahn's wagon, which had just pulled to a stop in the clearing moments ago. She ran around the back and quickly rooted through her backpack. Grabbing her sketchbook and charcoal pencil, she hustled back to where Zevran stood, kneeled down in front of the body, flipped to a clean sheet of paper, and began to draw a rough sketch of the dead elf's face.

"Uh, Kal," said Zevran, "if you wanted a male, elven subject to sketch, you could've asked me at any time. Although, I will admit I'm at my best for nude drawings."

"Sorry, Zev, but I'm not in a laughing mood right now," Kallian replied, concentrating on her sketching.

Loghain stepped up behind the Warden, hovering over her shoulder and watching her work. "He has a point. This is neither the time nor the place for sudden artistic inspiration."

The elf stopped, sighed heavily, and looked up at both Zevran and Loghain with an annoyed expression. "Is what I'm doing really _that_ mysterious?" When there was no answer, she rolled her eyes and explained, "That little girl just lost both her parents. Her mother's body isn't nearby, so I assume she got dragged off with the others. Her father lies here dead. She's obviously very young... who knows how much of her parents she may end up remembering as she grows older. The very _least_ I can do is make a quick rendering of her father, so that she has something to remember him by when she grows up."

Zevran gazed at his fellow elf with renewed adoration. "Kal..." he breathed, then stopped. He'd been ready to make another declaration of love, but figured she'd take it as a joke again. "You're too good for this world," he said softly, then backed away and left to help Sten and Oghren.

Loghain looked between the dead elf, Kallian, and her sketch. He didn't feel the need to argue with her. All he had to remember his own parents by were his memories and nothing more - the Orlesians had seen to that when they'd burned the generations-old Mac Tir farm to the ground after he and his father fled into the Ferelden wilderness. That sketch of the Warden's would be treasured by the child for the rest of her life. As touching as it was, however, it also worried him. How much of the Warden's sentimentality would be a strength and how much of it might prove to be a weakness? Loghain cleared his throat and walked over to lean against the party wagon.

When Kallian finished her sketch, she noticed a slip of parchment poking out of the elf's front pants pocket. Torn between curiosity and potential disrespect to the deceased, she finally caved in and carefully pulled the paper free. She unfolded it and gave the sheet a brief glance. The only useful bit was a rough map at the bottom showing a route to Denerim. A few words in the paragraph above were recognizable here and there, but the majority of the text eluded her. After all, elves in an Alienage had no proper, formal education; they relied on their parents, who were usually as uneducated as the children themselves. The most any of them could generally understand was the phrase emblazoned across all the signs posted in the Alienage: _Bearing arms is strictly prohibited. Elves who have swords will die upon them. _

However, her own illiteracy was something Kallian was dreadfully ashamed of - more so since she had gone out into the open world and discovered that most everyone else at least had a basic ability to read and properly write. Being illiterate was often considered hand-in-hand with lack of intelligence, but Kallian was clever and quick to learn... she'd just had no teaching in the matter of the written word. So, she'd learned the most from language by observing and listening. Others certainly treated her as if she were well-versed and well-read, but it was all a clever disguise. She had quite an extended vocabulary and knew the meaning of everything she said - she just was unable to write it down herself or to read it from a book unless it was the shortest and simplest of phrases. It was a carefully guarded secret of hers and the only one who knew was Leliana. Whenever the group ran across texts that looked useful, the bard would stay up with Kallian in her tent late into the night, quietly reading it aloud for the Warden. They wrote it off to the others as "girl talk." Kallian hoped to sit down and properly learn one day, but for the moment, it was not a skill necessary for bringing down the Archdemon, so she did not waste time or resources on it.

However, something else about this otherwise unreadable-to-her document caught her observant eye. "Loghain," she called, "I think this is something you may want to see. At the bottom is a stamp with a dragon that looks just like the one on your shield."

"The Gwaren Wyvern?" he asked, interest piqued. "Are you certain?"

Kallian shrugged and walked over to him. "See for yourself."

Loghain took the letter and glanced at the bottom. "That's the seal of Gwaren all right. And there's the name of the man I left in charge after I went to the capital: Acting Teyrn Ramus Halthor." He quickly read over the official notice from his old teyrnir.

Kallian watched him carefully, trying to read his lips as he mumbled under his breath. She couldn't discern what he was reading, but his widening eyes and paling face immediately made her concerned. "What?" she asked. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"What's_ wrong_?" He looked up at her, expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Did you even _read_ this?"

The elf's neck and ears instantly flushed pink. "I... I just skimmed it, to be honest."

"Gwaren is under a voluntary evacuation notice," he sighed heavily.

"Voluntary?" the Warden repeated.

"Darkspawn?" inquired Leliana.

Morrigan shot the bard a look of distaste. "You even have to ask?"

"Yes, darkspawn," Loghain answered, suddenly sounding weary and much older. His tone worried Kallian. "There've been sightings in the nearby forest. The number of reports have increased enough that, combined with the lack of response from Denerim-"

"-oh, imagine that, a lack of response from Denerim," Morrigan interrupted. "It couldn't have been because a certain someone was so preoccupied with civil war and invisible Orlesians that he missed the south burning down around his ears..."

"Morrigan!" Kallian barked. "Bite your tongue!"

"Why? 'Tis true."

Loghain either didn't hear her or chose to ignore the marsh witch. Instead, he breathed quietly to himself, "I had no idea. Did the messenger never arrive? Was the call for aid lost in a pile with all the others?" Looking back up at the Warden, he continued, "Ramus has asked that all non-essential persons leave for Denerim."

"Non-essential?" Kallian repeated, again with a questioning tone.

"Anyone the city don't need to stay up an' runnin'," Oghren answered. "Most of the merchants, noble families, servants... them types. The Shaperate says that's how the thaigs started clearing out before they got overwhelmed."

"Vashedan," Sten interjected. "All are essential. The Qun teaches that everyone in society has a specific role and all roles are vital for that society to function properly."

"The dwarf is correct." Loghain clarified, "Ideally, the only ones left will be the soldiers, a few of the port workers and ships' captains and crews, the Revered Mother, and the acting teyrn. And, of course, those too ill or elderly to leave on their own and with no family to help them evacuate. They'll be moved to the Chantry for safety's sake until the mandatory evacuation is imminent."

"I still don't understand," the Warden said. "What's with all this voluntary evacuation and mandatory evacuation? If there's danger, shouldn't everyone just leave now?"

"It depends on how immediate the threat is, no?" Leliana added. "It sounds like this Ramus does not wish to cause a panic."

"That's exactly it," said Loghain, "and he won't leave the village to fall unless it reaches such a point of no return. He's getting as many as he can out now, while the threat looms, before making a stand."

"Yes, very smart move," Morrigan sneered. "Sending hapless villagers out into the forest to be snapped up by the very darkspawn they have seen lurking about and from which they are trying to flee."

"Why not use your ships?" asked Sten.

"The ships will be needed if and when a mandatory evacuation is called," the former teyrn explained. He sighed, looking around at the sacked group of wagons. "And this is not the best route to take to Denerim. It's not even the route marked on this map." He tightened his grip on the parchment and shook it in frustration.

"They got lost, then," Kallian concluded, looking sadly upon the small pile of burning bodies.

Loghain didn't answer. Instead, he stared at the ground for a moment, then looked back at the evacuation notice. He let it fall from his fingers. Glancing at the little Gwaren refugee sleeping against his shoulder, he walked by the Warden and softly said, "We should get moving. Time's wasting." Kallian followed Loghain and joined him at the head of the party.

"Loghain," the Warden said gently. The warrior shot her a sideways glance. "Do you want us to go check on Gwaren?"

"What's the point?"

"Well, I mean, I know that was your teyrnir. And you obviously still care about it," she explained. "I could bring the party there after we meet with the Dalish. We could help defend it against the darkspawn. I was able to do the same for Redcliffe with much less."

"Why, Warden?" he asked. "Say we go there and defend Gwaren from a darkspawn attack. What then? We can't stay there and personally defend it forever. The Blight is far more important than any one teyrnir. And I waited too long to react to it. Gwaren is not the only village to suffer from my mistake, just as I am sure it will not be the last." There was a sadness underlying his tone that made Kallian's heart ache. Loghain looked over at her fully and locked eyes. "But don't think that I do not appreciate your offer. It is... exceedingly kind of you."

Kallian tentatively reached out and patted Loghain on the shoulder. To her surprise, he gave her a small, sad smile and briefly patted her shoulder in return.

Meanwhile, behind the pair of Grey Wardens, the others fell in line behind them with a small rumble of discontent.

"And now we have a child!" scoffed Morrigan. "How lovely! Absolutely nothing could possibly go wrong with this turn of events."

Sten agreed. "This is a bad idea."

"You would honestly leave a defenseless child here to be eaten by... by wolves or bears?" accused Leliana.

"Or worse," Oghren growled.

"The child is no safer with us: we head into danger," Sten explained. "It is another mouth to feed while adding no strength to our current resources."

Leliana stared at Sten, completely aghast.

Morrigan frowned. "Let me clarify the qunari's point: this is a _terrible_ idea."

"No," argued the bard, "you're both just terrible people."

"Parshaara," Sten grumbled, shaking his head in disdain. "Humans..."

* * *

However, Sten's concerns were not without merit. Having the child in tow did slow down the group's walking pace and there were several more stops for "call of nature" breaks than they normally had. The elven girl also had a severe fear of riding in Bodahn's wagon, although Kallian deduced that it stemmed from the darkspawn attack occurring while she'd been riding in one. As such, that meant that the girl had to either walk or be carried. Since she could not walk for any great distance, that meant at least one party member had to be burdened with carrying the child.

They took shifts, which helped. After Loghain's shoulder had begun to go numb, the Warden took over. Once Kallian could no longer suffer the child's wriggling, Oghren set her on his shoulders. The dwarf was able to bear her for a long time. Finally, when he had to pass her along, it was only because the little elf had become fascinated with pulling his beard braids up and back like reins on an oxen-driven cart.

She next passed to Sten. The qunari lived up to expectations by loudly grumbling, but it soon became apparent that the child did not bother him as much as he claimed. Before long, Sten had the child up on his shoulders and was running her in circles around the party. He claimed it was good practice for him to run with added weight. Meanwhile, the girl held her arms out and pretended she was flying like a bird, laughing gleefully the whole time. When Leliana once again accused Sten of being a big "softie", the qunari slowed his pace and went back to walking with the rest of the group. However, it only took a few minutes of the child lightly kicking his shoulders to get him running her around again.

The Warden had the party stop well before sundown that day since most of them had had to carry around the extra burden at some point during the journey east along the forest road. They went about the usual routine of setting up camp: pitching tents, getting the large campfire started, rolling fallen logs up to the fire, fetching a few buckets of water and the like.

Loghain squinted at the Warden's brightly artistic tent. It was an utter cornucopia of colors and shapes: paint splatters of reds, yellows, blues, and oranges; finger-painted shapes and symbols, some he recognized - the Grey Warden griffon along with a few tribal markings of the Dalish gods - and some he didn't. The canvas practically shouted at the world when compared to the humble, plain tents of the other companions. Well, aside from the black and bizarrely-cut dwelling of the swamp witch, but Loghain didn't really find _that_ to be surprising. What in Thedas might have possessed the Warden to do such a thing to her poor, unsuspecting shelter was beyond him. In fact, he surmised that her general thought process and motivations for virtually anything and everything may very well elude him until the end of time.

And yet, despite knowing that whatever answer she gave would simply serve to further mystify him, Loghain found it almost impossible to stop himself from inquiring anyway. Especially since the elf was currently engaged in adding yet _more_ decoration to those graffiti-ridden walls, all while encouraging their latest, young "stray" to aid her in the task.

"Warden," Loghain sighed, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side, "your lack of subtlety and camouflage, particularly for a rogue, astounds me."

Kallian, sitting cross-legged, paused in mid-paint stroke and looked over at the warrior. "Oh?"

"Oh, indeed," Loghain quipped in full snark mode. "In your year of sneaking about the countryside, ducking my soldiers and various bounty hunters, did you ever think it might be... oh, I don't know, a bit _illogical _to paint that thing up like a circus tent?"

"Not particularly, no," the elf answered, looking at him incredulously. "Aren't you forgetting that the tents at Ostagar - including your very own - were rather large and colorful?"

Loghain opened his mouth to respond, then promptly shut it and looked momentarily vexed. She made a good point and it had been an unexpected one at that. However, the Warden's smug, self-satisfied grin spurred him on. "First of all, those garish abominations were Cailan's doing," he continued. "Secondly, the army at Ostagar was hardly in hiding, which is more than I can say about the Grey Wardens afterwards."

"Yes, you were rather bent on making my life difficult at the time, I'll give you that," she volleyed back, though her tone was a playful one. "But considering how big my little group became, and how quickly it grew at that, I figured one colorful tent would draw no more attention than a whole group, complete with an ox and wagon and many nights of roaring bonfires and drunken singing. Besides..." she raised an eyebrow and waggled her painted-spattered fingers at him, "it's fun!"

He narrowed his eyes and harumphed. "Yes, yes," he sighed, "how could I forget how important that concept is to you. It's certainly imperative for making our mission a smashing success."

"Did it take you a long time to work that stick up your ass," she asked sarcastically, "or were you just born with it there?"

Loghain pursed his lips into a thin line, glared down at the Warden, then turned and stomped off. As she watched his retreating form, she amusedly shook her head and chuckled, "See? You even walk like you've got one stuck up there good and tight! Keep those cheeks clenched together, rookie!" Sitting side-by-side, the little girl burst out laughing, which launched Kallian into a giggle fit of her own.

* * *

As the sun began to sink in the west, Morrigan sat on the stump outside of her tent, looking into her own small, personal bonfire and frowning. Over at the camp's main fire, the others were gathered and completely entranced by their newest little tag-along. She and the Warden did not often see eye-to-eye on matters and this latest mockery of a decision was living proof of that. Either the elf had absolutely no concept of "survival of the fittest" or she chose to flagrantly ignore the logic in it.

"How we ever became friends is a mystery to me," the witch muttered under her breath. And she did sometimes wonder how that fact had come to be. She and the Warden couldn't be more opposite in personality and values. More often than not, they butted heads on every decision: from relatively minor ones, such as promising a drunken blacksmith that they'd look for his useless daughter in a castle crawling with the undead, to the major ones, like deciding to risk the entire party to save a backwards fishing village from a fate brought down upon it by its own ruling family. Not to even mention the annoying habit she'd had of defending that fool Alistair from the painful truths Morrigan conveyed to him. _No wonder he pitched a fit and left at the Landsmeet, _she pondered. _You cannot baby and coddle someone and expect them to grow and mature._

Yet, despite all of that, she couldn't deny that she felt an almost sisterly affection for the elf. From the very first time they'd met in the Korcari Wilds, it was apparent the Warden was more intelligent and open-minded than the dunces with which she'd been travelling. Morrigan could appreciate those traits. Although the Warden almost never agreed with her opinion on a situation - in fact, the only time she could recall was freeing the qunari in Lothering - Kallian at least had the decency to ask for her input and consider it. No one had ever done that before. Her mother hadn't cared what her thoughts might be; Flemeth simply told Morrigan what to do, how things were, and how they were going to be. What Morrigan might have wanted didn't matter... she felt more like a possession or a tool than a daughter.

The Warden, from the very start, treated Morrigan as her own person, as someone who mattered and had worth in this world. She asked the witch about her life and seemed to genuinely care about her thoughts and feelings. She was remarkably perceptive, remembering even trivial things mentioned in off-handed ways and picking up on those things left unsaid. And as shallow as the sentiment felt, the Warden had given her gifts. No one had ever given Morrigan a gift before, much less gifts that were thoughtful and from the heart.

Most touching of all, the elf had no reason whatsoever to do any of those things. It was not like Morrigan would leave the party; she required no bribes to stay. She had been sent with the Grey Wardens for a reason, after all. At the time, she couldn't comprehend just why, exactly, Flemeth wanted her to bring back the soul of an Old God in her womb. After reading through her mother's grimoires, it became clear that Morrigan was simply a means to an end - upon her return, Flemeth would likely have taken possession of her right then and there and had the divine baby to herself. But the Warden had spared her from that. Based on nothing more than her trust in Morrigan - after all, Kallian could not read Flemeth's coded journals - and a genuine desire to protect her friend, the elf had returned to the Wilds, battled her wily and dangerous mother, and struck her down.

Morrigan supposed that was largely why she remained. Knowing that she was free, at least for the immediate time-being, from her mother's schemes, she could have slunk off into the night to pursue her own life. The Warden was surrounded by plenty of strong companions; losing one would not cause her mission to fail. The apostate had no doubts that the Warden would succeed in ending the Blight, with or without her help. But when it came right down to it, Morrigan felt... guilty? Yes, she supposed that was the emotion she'd felt at the thought of abandoning the elf. Thanks to Flemeth, she knew that a Grey Warden would have to be sacrificed to kill the Archdemon. Knowing Kallian, she would determinedly be the one to do it. The thought had struck Morrigan more deeply than it should have. But there it was, all the same. She did not want her friend - which still felt like such a strange thing for her to have - to be destroyed. Especially not when Morrigan possessed the knowledge and ability to prevent it. The fact that she would become mother to an Old God reborn was certainly a fascinating prospect as well.

The sudden, shrill shriek of the elven girl's laughter interrupted Morrigan's thoughts. She glared over at the main campfire and saw Loghain balancing the child on his knee and lightly bouncing her up and down. She squealed and clapped in utter delight. _Now, this is rather fascinating, _she mused. _The grumpiest, surliest one among us has tamed the child, it seems._ Wanting to get a closer look, the apostate stood up and sauntered over towards the group. After all, if motherhood was in her near future, then the current situation may provide some good practice.

"Well, well, well," she purred as she approached, "who would've thought our Loghain would be the perfect babysitter?"

"It _is_ rather funny, isn't it?" chimed Leliana.

Loghain shot them a perturbed look. "I did raise a daughter once, if you'll recall."

Morrigan sat down on a log nearby, continuing to give the warrior and the child an appraising eye.

"It's still funny," quipped Zevran.

"May I try holding it?"

All eyes were instantly on the witch, some surprised, other suspicious.

"_She_ has a gender, Morrigan," Leliana said, giving her an irritated look.

"Fine," the mage sighed, "may I try holding _her_?"

"What for?" Loghain asked, eyeing her warily.

Morrigan held her hands up defensively, eyes narrowed. "Why all the hostility?"

"Coming from you," he answered, "it's a rather unusual request."

"And Kal did specifically leave Loghain in charge of the child," Zevran added.

"It's not like I'm going to _eat _the baby."

"Wouldn't put it past you," Oghren muttered.

Morrigan spun on him. "What was that, dwarf?"

"Why so interested all of a sudden?" Wynne asked, pausing her current sewing project to look up at the apostate suspiciously. "Weren't you of the mind to leave the child to the mercy of the forest?"

"I _was_, yes," she answered carefully, "but since it's apparent that she'll be travelling with us, I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity. I will likely become a mother one day, after all."

Oghren snorted in his ale stein. "Only if someone's willin' ta sleep with a harpy like you."

Morrigan shot him an offended glare. "I'll have you know, dwarf, that I've had plenty of attention from men during my short stints in the local villages."

"And did ya tie 'em up in your web and eat 'em afterwards like your fellow black widows?"

The witch stood and made as if she were about to club Oghren across the head with the back of her hand. However, Zevran's silky, persuasive voice served to calm the situation. "Ladies... gentlemen... let us all get our heads about us, yes? What harm is there in letting Morrigan hold the babe for a little while? It's hardly likely she'll steal away into the night while we're all standing here watching, no? What's the worst that could happen?"

"_Thank you_, Zevran," Morrigan said through gritted teeth, giving the others a withering gaze.

Loghain gave the marsh witch one more long, considering look. Then, he sighed and picked the elven girl off his knee and gently passed her into Morrigan's arms. Morrigan took the girl awkwardly, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself. As she tried to find a comfortable position for both herself and the child, the girl started to cry and wail with the full power of her small lungs. Panicking, the mage tried bouncing her up and down as she'd seen Loghain doing. The rough, inexperienced movements only served to give the child a headache and the tot became frightened that she may fall or be dropped. The crying turned into scared screaming. Loghain stood up at the exact same time Morrigan moved to pass the child back to him. The two wordlessly exchanged the girl once more, Loghain looking thoroughly perturbed and Morrigan appearing humbled.

"Good job, supposed mother-to-be," Oghren sarcastically quipped.

The apostate fervently ignored him. It bothered her, more than she cared to admit, that such a simple task as holding a toddler had proven to be so foreign to her that she'd failed almost instantly in her first attempt. Wanting to find some way to save face, she looked at the sobbing girl sitting in the former teyrn's lap. How had the Warden calmed the child earlier? Finger-painting in the late afternoon, she recalled, then some juggling tricks right before the elf left to hunt down some dinner.

"So," she said, bending over, placing her hands on her knees, looking eye-level with the elven girl and trying to appear friendly, "you like tricks, right? The Warden showed you tricks earlier and they made you clap, didn't they?"

The girl, now too focused on her crying, paid her no attention. Loghain desperately bounced the elven child on his knee again and softly cooed to her, trying to calm her down. The qunari had a point earlier in that the last thing they needed was a prowling wolfpack to hear the panicked shouts of the tot.

"Right... tricks... okay... children like bugs and animals, don't they?" With that line of thinking, Morrigan shapeshifted into a giant spider. The child took one glance at the eight beady eyes and hairy mandibles and was sent into all new realms of racking tears and sobs. The apostate tried changing into a black bear and reared up on her hind legs, trying to look like one of those trained bears at the travelling carnivals. The towering figure with long teeth did not amuse the little girl at all.

* * *

Meanwhile, not too far away, Kallian made her way back to camp at a slower-than-usual pace. Her hunt had been more successful than she'd expected; she'd gone out planning to bring in the usual small game that she was able to sneak up on and kill in a quick pounce of daggers. However, Daveth had managed to flush out a good-sized boar rooting about in the undergrowth. It'd been risky, considering the tusked pig could have easily gored her at the first misstep, but she'd brought it down fairly quickly. The boar had managed to graze the length of her right arm with one tusk, but the wound was more bloody than it was deep. The truly hard part was figuring out how to haul the kill back to camp by herself. In a bit of ingenuity, she'd made a makeshift litter composed entirely of tree branches lashed together with a bit of thick, Brecilian vine. Nearing camp, she determinedly walked backwards while pulling the heavy sled of pork. Daveth bounced around her happily, barking encouragement. The elf smiled at her hound, wishing that he could've been an extra pair of hands to help lug dinner home. The smell of burning timber and sounds of laughter called to her through the falling darkness. _Almost there, _she thought triumphantly.

However, the comforting sounds of camp died down and were soon replaced with the elven girl's frantic screams and sobs. A cacophony of sound followed, as if all of her companions had suddenly started shouting at once. Dropping the handle of her rough litter, Kallian ran the remaining distance to camp and unsheathed both daggers along the way. When she broke through the treeline and into their small clearing, she saw absolute chaos. Everybody was on their feet, yelling and pointing fingers. The center of attention was a large black bear, reared up on its hind legs as if ready to attack. The Warden quickly headed towards the obvious threat, setting the creature in her sights. Its presence kept everyone so distracted that her approach went entirely unnoticed.

Unnoticed, that is, except to the black bear. The animal turned and looked at her with surprised, golden eyes. At the same time, Kallian reached her maximum leaping distance and pushed off into the air, daggers poised and a war cry tearing through the night. Just as she leapt, the bear shrank down into the form of Morrigan, who had just enough time to look panicked and shout, "It's me, Ward-"

Fortunately, that split-second of recognition was enough time for Kallian to let her daggers slip harmlessly to the ground. But, being unable to change direction in mid-lunge, there was no avoiding completely tackling the mage and sending the both of them tumbling several feet.

"-en," Morrigan finished feebly, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.

Kallian rolled off of her friend, slowly sat up, swayed momentarily, and held her head in one hand for a minute. Morrigan appeared equally wobbly after their impact. The others attempted to stifle their laughter - something that the child did not bother trying, as the turn of events set her off into peals of laughter and clapping. It had been quite an exciting show to her, after all.

"Morrigan," the Warden said slowly, "just _why_ were you a black bear?"

"I..." Morrigan hesitated, then finished, "I was attempting to entertain the child."

The elf pondered that for a moment. Then, she said, "Ignoring how odd that sounds, just please... don't do that again without warning me ahead of time."

"Oh, trust me, I have _no_ intention of doing that again," answered the apostate. "Ever." With that, she got back to her feet and stormed off to her own tent to sulk.

Kallian groaned and groggily stood back up as well, with some assistance from Oghren and Zevran. She looked around slowly, seeing that everyone was all right, then fixed Sten with a look. "We've a boar to bring in for supper. If you'd be so kind, it's on a litter that-a-way." Sten nodded once, then took off in the direction the Warden indicated.

"Kal!" Leliana gasped. "What happened to your arm?" Almost at the same time, Wynne noticed as well and rushed over to the Warden.

The elf glanced down at the bloody streak running down along the side of her arm. "Oh, it's nothing," she replied. "Just a scratch. Better than getting gored." She felt the Circle mage's healing magic course through the limb and watched as the gash knitted closed. Even after all this time and the countless battles and injuries, watching the process still fascinated her.

Wynne followed up by taking Kallian's arm and cleaning the blood off with a damp rag from one of the water buckets. "You should be more careful," she chastised. When she'd finished nursing the elf, she looked up with a long-suffering expression.

"Yes, mother," the Warden ribbed, crinkling her eyebrows together and giving the mage a lop-sided smirk. Wynne sighed and shook her head, though it was mostly good-natured, as she went back to her seat.

Meanwhile, Loghain finally set the squirming child down. The elven girl rushed up to Kallian shouting, "Cow! Cow!" She wrapped both arms tightly around Kallian's leg.

"Cow?" the Warden asked, looking down at the girl and then up at Loghain, one eyebrow raised. The warrior shrugged.

"She's trying to say 'Kal', but she's having some problems with enunciation," Leliana explained.

"Oh, we've finally got her talking?" Kallian asked, leaning down to pick up the child.

"A bit," Zevran answered, pointing to the former teyrn. "All his doing."

"Really?" she asked incredulously, softly bouncing the child up and down in her arms.

"Don't act so surprised," Loghain drawled.

The toddler giggled for a moment, then leaned away from Kallian and stretched her arms out towards Loghain. "Loggy! Wanna go Loggy!" she insisted. Kallian set her down. The tot immediately ran to him, crawled back into his lap, and gave his braids a friendly tug. Then, she perched happily on his knee, sucking a thumb while twisting around to see if Wynne was finished sewing yet.

The Warden gave Loghain a vastly bemused look, smirking and arching an eyebrow once more. "Loggy?"

For the first time, Kallian saw Loghain blush beet-red. He loudly cleared his throat. "Like the Antivan said, she's having trouble pronouncing things."

"Well, in any case, good work, _Loggy_," she teased. Loghain pursed his lips and scowled, but his eyes gave a hint of playful amusement. "Managed to get her to say her own name yet?"

He shook his head. "Unfortunately, no breakthroughs on that front."

"There!" Wynne announced suddenly, setting down her needle and thread. The Circle mage got up, walked over to Loghain, and handed over her evening's work: the stuffed, orange tabby cat with a humble, scrap cloth replacement leg. He looked up at her and gave an acknowledging nod of thanks. Wynne returned with a slight bow. New weapon in hand, Loghain lightly shook and bounced the kitty in front of the girl. Having her beloved toy back was exciting enough, but once he gave the stuffed animal a squeaky voice to accompany the dance, she squealed happily and started clapping.

Leliana couldn't help but giggle. "Looks like Sten isn't the only big softie around here."

Loghain shot the Orlesian a rather half-hearted glare, but quickly returned to entertaining his Gwaren refugee and keeping her happy and relatively quiet. Next to the bard, the Warden crossed her arms, sat back, and watched the pair for a while, smirking the whole time and snickering now and then.

* * *

Author's Note: There was some extra inspiration in this chapter. First off, I have no idea if CalJones on the Bioware forums coined the nickname "Loggy" or not, but she's the one I picked it up from. So, that's a little in-chapter tribute to her. Seeing a bit of "Daddy Loghain" in action was inspired from Addai's magnificent AU fic, "The Arrangement". Which I have since put a pause on reading so I can focus on finishing writing my own story here, but it had some influence for this chapter, nonetheless.

Qunari Language: vashedan translates to "garbage/rubbish" and parshaara means "enough"

And as before, I feel the need to list a few songs that were definitely kept on "repeat" for their symbolism and appropriateness while conspiring for this chapter. Perhaps they will make good background reading tunes!

Discovering the Child was done to an instrumental piece... "Wounded" from the _How to Train Your Dragon _soundtrack

Gwaren's Evacuation Notice was mostly written to "Shake Me Down" by Cage the Elephant

Daddy Loghain Moments were done partly to "No Woman, No Cry" by Bob Marley and "Romantic Flight" from the _How to Train Your Dragon _soundtrack (yup, been listening to that a lot lately)


	9. The Dalish

Author's Note: As always, many thanks go to **Gene Dark **for going through both the original draft and the re-write of this chapter.

Additionally, thank you to my wonderful reviewers: **Josie Lange, Kira Tamarion, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Morwen33, Alliel 23, and Marvy. **Also, I'd like to welcome some of my new reviewers and followers who have come over from my DA2 Anders/Hawke one-shot! It fills my heart with many warm feelings that people read the short story and liked my style enough to take a chance on my long work-in-progress. Rest assured, I am making steady progress on this fic... and I actually have a few more DA2 Anders/Hawke one-shots in my head, so for those who enjoyed "Not Too Heavy", you'll get to read a few more random snippets like that soon! :)

* * *

"Maker dammit all!"

Kallian immediately shot up in her bedroll, suddenly alert at the sounds of cursing outside her tent. She could also hear the heavy, thudding cadence of rain against the canvas. They'd not had a good thunderstorm in some time, so they were about due. However, the sudden shower was not her most immediate concern. Such an unexpected uproar could be another shriek attack on the camp.

Grabbing her daggers, the Warden rushed out barefoot and in her nightclothes. She was instantly greeted by the torrential downpour. Squinting, she looked around as best she could. With the cloud cover and the doused campfire ashes, it was difficult to see, even for her sharp elven eyesight. She could hear some of the others out as well, probably also checking for an ambush. Nothing seemed to be happening, however, except for the pounding rain and the continued string of curses. The elf ducked back inside her tent for a moment, tossed one of her daggers aside, and used the free hand to grab her glowball lantern.

"Everything all right?" she called when she re-emerged with the light source, limited though its range was.

"No, everything is _not_ bloody well all right!"

That was definitely Loghain's irritated voice, but she couldn't see where he was. The Warden approached the spot where his tent had once been. In its place was a soaking wet, collapsed heap from which an equally soaking wet Loghain angrily untangled himself. Kallian held the lantern up a bit higher to better illuminate the scene. It was apparent that Wynne's patch job could only withstand so much punishment. The pounding rain had finally been too much for the distressed seams and the large rent torn into it on Loghain's first night in camp had re-opened, compromising the entire structure's integrity. While one side still tried valiantly to stay upright, the remainder was now reduced to a soggy mess.

Ignoring how futile the effort may be, the elf sprung into action. Armed with the lantern, she poked her head inside and checked the one erect corner of the shelter. She'd intended to try and grab whatever may still be dry and quickly run it to cover in Bodahn's wagon. However, as she looked around, it became apparent that everything was already completely saturated.

"It's a lost cause, Warden," Loghain grumbled from outside.

Kallian withdrew from the collapsed tent and looked over at him. "Normally, I'm the champion of lost causes," she joked, "but... yeah, everything's pretty well soaked through in there." The elf shrugged. "Eh, the clothes and bedroll should dry out tomorrow, at least."

"The maps won't," he lamented. "Or, rather, they will, but they'll be utterly ruined."

"Maps?"

He sighed. "I _had_ a nice collection of them." With a frown, he added, "You'd think I'd have gotten used to losing things I'm fond of by now."

As surly as his tone had been, there was an underlying gloom to it that tugged at the Warden. She suddenly felt a very strong urge to embrace him, but she fought it down for both their sakes. Instead, she grabbed his arm and said, "Let's get you out of the rain, at least."

"I won't argue with that," he answered, following her lead, "but where do you intend I go?"

"My tent."

Loghain stopped dead in his tracks. "Your tent?" he repeated, sounding both incredulous and slightly alarmed. He turned to look down at the Warden. In response, she came to a halt and turned towards him, holding the lantern at shoulder-height and looking up at him quizzically. He found himself a bit surprised at how she looked just then in the soft glow of that little, blue light. Having let down the ponytail she normally wore whenever she was up and about, Kallian's copper hair hung down to her shoulders. The wet strands covered her cheeks and framed the rest of her face, giving her a rather seductive look. Her nightclothes were drenched, clinging to every subtle, humble curve. In that moment, she didn't look like a Grey Warden who spent her days as a soldier and a commander. She simply looked like a woman. A very pretty woman.

The momentary trance was broken when Kallian answered, "Yes, my tent." She cocked her head to the side. "Are you okay?"

For a brief moment, Loghain inwardly panicked, wondering just how long he'd been staring at the Warden. Then, he loudly cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm fine. It just seems... a little inappropriate to... uh, share a tent with my commanding officer."

"Oh!" The elf's eyes widened. "Oh. You thought? Oh, no, no. No worries. I'm not going to be sleeping in there with you."

"That's a relief," he sighed, running a hand through his wet, black hair, "but where does that leave you?"

"I'll probably go bunk with Leliana." She shrugged, then resumed leading him over to her tent. Lifting the door flap, she gestured him inside. "After you."

The interior of the tent was just large enough to accommodate two people, but not by much. Loghain knelt down in the furthest corner he could, trying to stay out of the elf's way as she crawled back and forth in search of things, mumbling quietly to herself as she did so. With each pass, she inadvertently brushed some part of her body against his. It was unavoidable, really, in such close quarters, but if Loghain hadn't known better, he'd almost swear she were doing it on purpose. It had been a rather long time since he'd last spent 'quality time' with a woman and that, combined with everything else presently occurring, was beginning to make him feel rather uncomfortable. He seriously considered just going back outside, rain be damned.

Instead, when the elf brushed by him for a fourth time, Loghain averted his eyes and gazed upwards. Whether he was actually seeking divine intervention, he wasn't sure, but the Warden's painted tapestry of the star-filled night sky immediately caught his fancy. It was so well done and thoughtful, especially compared to the absolute chaos that adorned the exterior of her tent. "That's rather impressive work," he finally remarked.

Kallian paused in her item-gathering, two towels and an extra blanket in hand, and looked over her shoulder at the warrior. She followed his gaze to the ceiling of her tent. "Oh," she breathed, then blushed. "Thank you. It's nothing, really."

"It's inspired," he countered.

Her blush deepened and she turned around again to finish her task. Loghain looked back down at her once more and felt a moment of fondness. _The Warden - Blight Queller, Street Juggler... and Undiscovered Artist, eh? _he thought in amusement. A small smile played across his lips, one that he immediately quashed as soon as the elf turned back to him.

"Here." She plopped a towel and a few extra blankets in front of him. "This should get you started, at least. You're welcome to use my bedroll. I'll try and find a dry set of clothes for you to change into. Be back in a moment."

With that, Kallian dashed outside with a small knapsack in tow. She was not gone for very long. After a few minutes, the Warden popped back in, turned the knapsack over, and dumped out a tunic and a pair of pantaloons borrowed from the Redcliffe emissary. Loghain inwardly cringed at the thought of how tight the clothing would be; Lieutenant Cadrim was quite a bit shorter than he. However, considering the other options consisted of women, elves, dwarves, mage robes, and a qunari, he understood his choices were quite limited. Having provided him with everything she could, the Warden wished Loghain a good night and disappeared outside once more.

Loghain waited for a bit to make sure the elf didn't pop back in because she'd forgotten something. Once he felt he was truly left alone, he stripped down and toweled himself dry. As he pulled on the spare clothes, he reflected on the Warden for a bit. Once again, she had proven unusually kind. He'd have settled for sleeping in the back of the wooden wagon after his tent collapsed, but she'd gone and donated her own tent and bedroll to his use. He didn't entirely understand why, although he supposed they considered each other better than acquaintances by this point in time. Perhaps even friends, if he were to make a rather bold assumption.

He wasn't entirely sure how she felt, but he could feel himself softening towards her ever so slightly. At first, he'd felt nothing but anger and resentment. She'd humiliated him at the Landsmeet. Even turned his only child against him. He'd been prepared to die after she'd won their duel. He hadn't been prepared to instead live a life of servitude to the Warden; his initial thoughts to such a position had reminded him too much of what his family had been forced to endure under the Orlesians. And once he'd learned that his desperate accord with the Tevinter Imperium had caused her very personal suffering, he'd steeled himself for the worst of possible retributions. Yet, no vengeance had been exacted upon him. Instead, she'd shown him unexpected mercy and, ever so slowly, had begun to open up to him. On one hand, it was almost unnerving, as if he should wait for the other shoe to drop. But on the other hand, it was refreshing to realize that his place in the group was not a completely servile one and that he and the Warden appeared to share a mutual respect for one another.

As Loghain's thoughts wandered, Kallian got busy. Foregoing a visit to Leliana's tent, as she'd said was her plan for shelter, the elf instead sprinted towards Bodahn's wagon. She tossed her knapsack of spare clothes into the back, safely out of the rain thanks to the canvas cover. Then, she jogged back to Loghain's collapsed tent. It only took a moment's worth of rooting around to find his waterlogged maps. She gathered them up carefully and spirited them to the wagon.

The elf jumped up inside, hung her glowlight lantern on a nearby hook, and surveyed her workspace. There wasn't much of it. Most of the floor was covered with various boxes and crates. The inner walls were lined with shelves full of an assortment of oddities, from books to helmets, as well as swords, maces, and axes hanging from pegs. However, beggars couldn't be choosers, so the old Alienage saying went. Kallian pulled a towel out from her knapsack and dried off as best she could, then changed into a new pair of nightclothes. With the first order of business out of the way, she went about scrounging up all the blank vellum she could find in Bodahn's stores.

Properly armed, she sat down on a crate and attempted to go through the soggy maps. Some were stuck together and nigh impossible to separate without tearing to pieces. Those, unfortunately, would be a pure and total loss. However, there were several that she was able to slowly and gently unfold. While the ink on those had begun to run, they were not beyond all recognition. Kallian, though not particularly learned, did know the names of major cities and landmarks in Ferelden and had self-taught experience sketching maps of her own. Her journal was filled with both largescale and local maps: the interior of the Brecilian Forest, the portion of Deeps Roads they'd travelled through, an entire layout of Denerim and its major areas of interest, and even the floorplan of Redcliffe Castle and the Circle Tower.

Thus, charcoal pencil and blank vellum in hand, the Warden began to copy all of Loghain's maps that she could. She spent most of the remaining night doing so.

* * *

Daveth awoke the next morning before everyone else, as was his usual custom. The Mabari warhound was a seasoned veteran of both battle and travel and rarely slept very deeply; the first sound or smell of trouble had him up and on guard. So, just before sunrise, he rose up and gave a quick sniff. Finding nothing troublesome nearby, he lowered his forelegs and raised his hindquarters up into a long, exaggerated doggy stretch. He then shifted weight to his forepaws, stuck out his scruffy chest, and lowered his rear haunches, stretching even further. After a short, whining yawn, he trotted off towards the bushes to relieve himself. Back when he'd first joined His Warden, he'd often go and do his morning business in front of the Grumpy Witch's tent. Her reactions, while screechy, were endlessly amusing. However, after about the fourth or fifth morning "gift" left for her, she'd threatened to flay him alive if it happened again. Daveth was not entirely sure what "flay" meant, but it sounded unpleasant enough that he'd stopped that little game. For now, at least.

Once business was completed, he trotted back into the heart of camp. All remained quiet and peaceful. Anxious for the morning meal, the hound sniffed around last night's campfire. The rain had completely dampened all the remaining ashes, so there was no threat of burnt paws. Daveth scooted close, reared up on his hindlegs, and placed his forepaws on one side of the suspended cooking pot. The device swung back a bit from his sudden weight, but once the dog got his footing, he was able to stick his nose down into the pot. Unfortunately, there were no leftover hunks of pork floating around, but there was plenty of cold, watered-down broth. While that may not sound appetizing to a two-legger, it was a breakfast of champions to Daveth and a good use of resources, since it would probably just be poured out and wasted later.

Feeling pleasantly full and happy, Daveth wandered over to His Warden's tent. It was almost time for her to get up and the hound was always happy to help. He brushed aside the doorflap and instantly became confused. While the interior smelled of lavender and dried tea leaves - which he knew to be His Warden's special scent - it also now smelled strongly of musk and iron, something he associated with the New Warden.

The hound crept forward carefully, nose sniffing rapidly. When he reached His Warden's bedroll, he confirmed that the occupant was definitely the New Warden. While that discovery was quite surprising, he also didn't want to be rude. After all, the New Warden often gave him treats and scratched him and was quite obviously a Dog Person, so he was a Good Friend by Daveth's reckoning. So, he gave him his most sacred greeting, one that he had only ever reserved for His Old Master and His Warden: a good, old-fashioned tongue bath across the face. He knew it was the best salutation because two-leggers always had such excited reactions to it.

Just as expected, the New Warden shot up suddenly and looked around, instantly alert. Daveth barked his amusement and furiously wagged his little nub of a tail. After re-orienting himself with his surroundings, the New Warden looked over at the Mabari and chuckled softly. Then, with a wry grin, he gave the top of the dog's head a friendly petting and rubbing. The hound's tongue lolled out as he happily panted, barking a few more times for good measure.

"Well, good morning to you, too, good boy," the New Warden said, rubbing the canine's head more vigorously for a moment. Daveth answered with squinty eyes of pure delight. "Looking for your master, I suppose?" he asked.

Daveth barked an affirmative.

"She said she was going to the Orlesian's tent last night," answered the New Warden, "so I'd try there first." Daveth woofed his thanks and turned to go, but was stopped short by the two-legger loudly clearing his throat. "Oh, and Daveth," he added, "I've heard the red-head loves nothing more than being awoken by a surprise pounce." The New Warden gave him a sly wink.

The warhound bounded out, slightly excited to be playing a game of hide-and-seek with His Warden. Following the New Warden's advice, Daveth slipped into the Singing Woman's tent and immediately sprung atop her. The bard let out a shriek of terror before realizing what had her pinned down.

She grunted, "Yes, yes, very funny. Oof! Let me up..."

Daveth complied and went about searching for His Warden. There were no recent signs or scents of her in this tent. Confused, he cocked his head and whined before slipping back out.

By now, after all the barking and the Singing Woman's shouting, most of the party had arisen and was milling about. The Sly Elf was engaged in his own morning stretches. The Old Witch looked around blearily and yawned, as did the Drunk Dwarf. The Tall Warrior gave his surroundings a cursory perusal before beginning to break down his tent. Daveth narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side once more. That was everyone accounted for except the Tag-Alongs and His Warden.

Putting his nose to the ground, the Mabari sniffed around, following the most recent scents of His Warden. He went from her tent to the New Warden's tent, then back to her tent again, back to the New Warden's tent, and then finally ended up at the back of the Tag-Along Dwarves' wagon. Mission accomplished, Daveth bounded back around the wagon, circled the New Warden and the Sly Elf a few times while barking excitedly, then hopped off to the back of the wagon again. After what felt like a long wait, Daveth's favorite two-leggers - aside from His Warden, of course - finally came around to join him at the back of the wagon.

"What is it, my little, furry friend?" the Sly Elf asked, crouching down to the dog's eye level. "A stow-away?"

The New Warden's heavy, long-suffering sigh caused the elf to look over at him with a raised, inquiring eyebrow. As the man ran a palm over his weary face, the Sly Elf stood up and gazed carefully into the back of the wagon. Both eyebrows shot up and he quickly covered his mouth to keep from cackling out loud. Wanting to join in the group stare, Daveth jumped up, placed his forepaws on the back of the wagon, and gazed adoringly at His Warden. She was sound asleep, curled up in a blanket, and half-sitting on a crate while partially leaning against one of the interior walls of the cart. Her hair had dried out, but now stuck up in odd places and looked rather tangled from her unusual sleeping arrangements. She gave a little, mewling snore and wriggled a bit, coming perilously close to falling off the crate and face-planting on the floor. Daveth wagged his nubby tail.

"Oh, this is priceless," the Sly Elf whispered to the New Warden. "If only she could see herself right now."

"Yes," the man added, his tone sarcastic but highly amused, "the little string of drool really completes the picture here."

Anxious for His Warden to wake up and get them back on the road, Daveth leapt up into the back of the wagon and started licking her face. She spluttered, groaned, and shook her head from side to side, trying to escape his slobbering tongue. Finally, she stood up in an attempt to get away, but only succeeded in cracking the top of her head against the roof of the wagon.

"Good morning, sunshine!" the Sly Elf called.

His Warden narrowed her eyes at her fellow elf while gingerly rubbing her head.

"Why, exactly, were you sleeping in the back of a hard, wooden wagon?" the New Warden asked. "I'd have never taken your tent had I suspected you'd do this."

She grinned at him sheepishly. "I know, I know," she lied, "but it was a last-minute decision on my part. I didn't want to wake up Lel, so I just hopped back here. It really wasn't that bad. Honest."

"We could tell," the Sly Elf teased. "You looked _very_ comfortable."

His Warden rolled her eyes. Then, she did her best to roll up her blanket and gather her knapsack in a somewhat dignified manner before hopping out of the wagon. Daveth followed right behind her.

"Speaking of comfortable," continued the Sly Elf, giving the New Warden an appraising look up and down, "those clothes don't look very comfortable at all."

"They're not," the human miserably agreed. "I'm sure I'll be wonderfully chafed by the end of the day. But, I suppose it's better than having nothing at all between myself and my armor."

"My sympathies, friend," remarked the Sly Elf. He glanced down, looked back up, waggled his eyebrows, shot a brief look over at the female elf, stifled a laugh, then glanced down again. "I would encourage you to suit up as soon as possible, then. While seeing your rippling muscles through the shirt is very nice, the tightness of the pants is rather... distracting." A smug grin followed.

The New Warden puffed up and glared. "Eyes up here, elf," he ordered, pointing at his face.

"Which elf?" the other asked, coyly gesturing his head at his female counterpart.

She immediately turned beet red and looked up, giving her fellow Grey Warden an awkward and sheepish grin. The New Warden answered with a rather dramatically arched eyebrow. "I'm, uh..." the elf stammered momentarily, "I'm gonna go pack up my tent now." With a little, nervous laugh, His Warden bid a hasty retreat. Daveth barked happily along at her heels.

The rest of the early morning went about how it always did: everyone breaking down camp and packing it up inside the Tag-Along Dwarves' wagon. The familiar routine put the Mabari at ease. He preferred it, honestly. Although, it had been rather amusing watching His Warden and the Singing Woman string up laundry lines all around the exterior of the wagon, hanging the New Warden's soaked clothing and bedding up to dry in the sunlight as they moved along. Unfortunately, they had strung up the unmentionables inside the wagon, out of view and reach. Daveth had half a mind to sneak the soggy undies into the Grumpy Witch's bedding while she wasn't looking, but it was not to be. Oh, well, there would always be other times. He wagged his rear happily at the thought.

The walking caravan had relative peace for a time. The warhound kept up a careful patrol around the perimeter, but no darkspawn or other predators smelled close to their chosen roadway. In fact, the only excitement came when His Warden spotted some fallen ironbark just off the dirt path. She had the group stop for a while as they gathered up all the bits they could find, loading it into the Dalish supply crate. The collective pause gave the dog time to play with the Elf Child. He woofed joyfully and proceeded to frolic around her while she giggled and squealed and chased him to and fro. When she got tired, she sat down on the grass by the side of the road and Daveth plopped down beside her, panting. Looking about, she picked some wildflowers and tucked them lovingly into his collar, giving the hound a mane of daisies and dandelions. When His Warden called for them to get back to walking, the Tall Warrior came over and picked the Elf Child up. After he placed her on top of his shoulders, the little girl tucked her last daisy behind the Tall Warrior's bronze, pointed ear. To his credit, the giant didn't make a fuss about her gesture. Daveth rolled his tongue out and cocked his head to the side in a doggy laugh.

After everyone got back to travelling, Daveth made his way to the front. His Warden and the New Warden were walking side-by-side, as they often did these days, and both seemed to have gotten past their bit of awkwardness from earlier in the morning. However, what was of greater concern to the Mabari was the bit of open wrapping the New Warden held and took occasional bites from. Daveth made sure to place himself well within view and shot several long, meaningful glances at the man. The New Warden looked down at the hound, then did a double-take at the flower-laden collar. Suppressing a chuckle, he elbowed his companion and gestured. His Warden made no such efforts to keep from laughing out loud.

"Looks like our little bundle of joy has been hard at work again," she chuckled.

"Which reminds me," interrupted the New Warden, "I've been meaning to ask what you intend to do with her. She can't stay with us for long, surely?"

"No, certainly not," she agreed. "I was thinking of placing her with the Dalish, actually."

The New Warden made a dissatisfied grunt. Daveth, meanwhile, continued his campaign of pleading. Obviously, his Good Friend had missed the very important question in his canine eyes.

"What?" His Warden argued. "Other than the Dalish, we'll be in the wilderness for a while. There are no towns that close by, at least not for several days walking distance. And say we wait until we do reach a town. What then? Drop her off with some random human strangers? Sure, they'll want an elven child. Should we hope that town has an Alienage? We could dump her off there with all the rest of the _unwanted_ citizens of the town. Maybe if those Alienage elves are good and mind their place, her new orphanage home won't get _massacred _like Denerim's did during the riots."

The New Warden stared straight ahead and said nothing, but his jaws clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

"Oh, or we could hope a trading caravan passes us by," she continued, starting to get rather worked up. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind taking on an extra mouth to feed. Maybe they could even consider her as an added good to sell off."

"You've made your point," he growled darkly.

"I don't mean to be an ass, Loghain," His Warden sighed heavily. "Really, I don't. But there's no good place for us in this world. The Dalish are her best hope for a life relatively free of harassment and prejudice."

"You have a rather idealized view of your wild cousins."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but I still think they beat any other alternatives for the little one."

The two fell silent for a time. The New Warden took another bite from the wrapping in his hand, frustrating Daveth even further. He could smell the pork it contained. It made his eyes and mouth water. Finally, he barked twice and did his utmost to look cute and irresistible.

The New Warden looked back down at the dog pacing his footsteps. "Here, some smoked boar saved from supper," he said, offering the rest of the wrapper's contents. "Heh, it'll do you good." He smirked as Daveth excitedly huffed and gobbled the meat up. The man gazed forward again, lost in thought for a moment. Then, in a rather quiet voice, he said, "I had a Mabari once."

The elf's head whipped over and watched her companion. Her eyes squinted momentarily, as if she weren't sure if he was talking to her or to Daveth, but she gave him her full attention. Daveth did as well.

"Adalla - that was her name," he continued, speaking the name in an almost reverent way. "We found her in the woodshed one night. She was still a pup then. We never figured out where she came from. My mother called her a gift from the Maker. And she was... she really was."

He paused. Daveth watched with rapt attention as he walked beside the New Warden. His Warden did the same, appearing both surprised and intrigued to see her fellow Grey Warden opening up in such a personal manner about his past.

The New Warden continued, "She was beautiful. She had a lovely chestnut brown coat and the most intelligent, understanding eyes." He gazed down at Daveth and added, "You would have liked her."

Daveth wagged his small tail.

"We grew up together," he went on. "She never left my side, not once. I've mentioned before that I only had my parents growing up. Adalla was... well, she was my best friend. I know that may sound silly or juvenile, but it was the truth."

Daveth gave an understanding whine. He understood how deep such bonds went.

The New Warden stopped for a short time, his jaws clenching again with the memories. Then, he finished what he could of the story. "Ten years we had her, before she was taken away..." He stopped again and looked away.

His Warden moved to walk a bit closer to the New Warden. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out and rested it on his shoulder for a moment. Daveth cocked his head to the side and looked curiously at his Good Friend.

The New Warden sighed loudly, then looked back towards the hound, stoic as ever. "Another time, perhaps," he responded, offering the rest of the smoked boar. "Finish your snack." As Daveth gulped down on the meat, the New Warden smiled at him and patted his head. "Good boy, Daveth." Then, he gazed over at his fellow Grey Warden with a questioning look. "You know, I always meant to ask, but how did Daveth get his name? Adalla was actually my grandmother's, on my father's side. She died many years before I was born, but I was told she had a great affection for animals. It may be a bit odd - or disrespectful to some, I suppose - to name an animal after a person, but it seemed a fitting enough tribute at the time."

"I don't think it's disrespectful at all," she answered. Looking thoughtfully at the Mabari, she smiled. "Rather, I think it is the best way to remember someone... a way for them to live on after death, so to speak. Daveth is named after a human I knew, albeit very briefly."

The New Warden looked intrigued. "Who was he?" he asked.

"Daveth was a fellow Grey Warden recruit I met at Ostagar," she explained. "There were three of us in total - he, I, and a Redcliffe knight named Jory. The knight had won some tournament or other and caught Duncan's eye. He wanted to be there, to become a Grey Warden. At least, he thought he did." After a short pause, she cleared her throat and continued, "Daveth was a cutpurse and a thief. Like my mother, actually. He was just some nameless cast-off, trying to survive. An unwanted member of society... a 'street rat', much like me."

The New Warden looked as if he were about to interject, but stopped short.

"He didn't want to be there anymore than I did. Duncan had caught him stealing his coinpurse red-handed, but recruited him rather than turning him over to the Denerim guards. Daveth didn't want to be a Grey Warden, but it was better than hanging in the gallows. He faced his turn of fate bravely and had a sense that something much bigger was going on, something that he could help go the right way. We hit it off almost instantly. Granted, his side started off with blatant flirting... _bad _flirting at that." She chuckled softly. "But we could relate to each other better than the rest. We had similar backgrounds, were recruited in... similar fashions. We didn't necessarily want to be there or to be Grey Wardens, but we were prepared to do what we could to 'fight the good fight', so to speak. We made a promise to watch each other's backs."

Sighing sadly, she continued, "Daveth didn't survive the Joining. In fact, I was the only one who did. But I didn't want him to be forgotten. To be just another dead thief who had a brief life of unhappiness and struggle. So, when that dog survived Ostagar and managed to track me down to the outskirts of Lothering - and also had my back by warning me about an impending darkspawn ambush - I named him Daveth. As you said, it seemed a fitting enough tribute at the time."

"That was thoughtful of you," said the New Warden.

"Not really," she responded, shaking her head. "It was just the right thing to do, by my reckoning, so it was done."

Her companion looked ready to say something else, but was cut short by Daveth's alarmed barks. The hound could hear careful, quiet footsteps approaching. Hair raising up on his back and neck, he growled a warning to the unseen threat, watching the nearby treeline vigilantly. From the back of the caravan, the Elf Tag-Along separated from the Human Soldier Tag-Along, the Dwarf Tag-Along, and the Mage-But-Not-A-Mage Tag-Along and walked out towards the treeline in front of His Warden and the New Warden. The Elf Tag-Along carefully studied the surrounding vegetation, eyes and ears alert. After a moment, he raised both hands to his mouth, formed a peculiar shape, and made a call that sounded much like a mourning dove. A returning call answered him from nearby.

The Elf Tag-Along turned around, smiling, and gave the two Grey Wardens a nod. "It's hunters from my clan," he announced.

Five Dalish elves melted into view from out of the treeline. One of them separated himself from the others and approached the group. He stopped in front of his clansman and bowed in greeting. Daveth watched him carefully, just to be sure. Then, the elf continued to His Warden and bowed. "I am Deygan," he said. "You found me wounded in the forest and saved my life."

His Warden bowed in return. "I remember you, Deygan. It is good to see you recovered and well."

"All thanks to you, lethallan," he returned. "We all owe you a very large debt. But come, let me lead you back to my clan. I assume it is time for us to gather our forces for the Blight?"

"Indeed," she answered, "that time has come."

* * *

"Andaran atish'an, lethallan!" Keeper Lanaya shouted when she spotted Kallian approaching their camp. "How good it is to see you still well."

The two elven leaders embraced each other, then took a step back. Kallian smiled warmly at the new Dalish Keeper. It was good to see a fellow city elf risen to her rank. "How are you?" she asked excitedly. "How is the clan? The hunters have all recovered now, yes?"

"Yes," Lanaya confirmed, giggling at Kallian's enthusiasm, "all is well here, thanks to your efforts." She briefly gazed around at the Wardens' companions and shot Kallian a concerned look. "I see you have a new follower, but one is missing. Where is your fellow Grey Warden?"

Kallian's heart ached at the reminder. "Yes," she said. "Alistair... he... he is lost to us now."

"Oh..." The Keeper sympathized, "Abelas. I am so sorry to hear of your loss. We shall sing a eulogy song for him tonight."

Kallian hid her grimace well. A lament for Alistair would not be a fun event for her to attend. Not one bit. "That really isn't necessary," she insisted.

Lanaya appeared a bit put out, but did not push the issue. "If that is what you wish."

Eager to change the subject, she motioned towards her companion. "This is Loghain. He is new to the Grey Wardens and has recently joined my war party."

Lanaya nodded to him briefly. "Loghain is a name that we are familiar with. He ruled a human settlement to the east of here and also served under this land's former king, yes?"

"More or less," Loghain answered, remaining brief.

She fixed the Warden with a look. "You and I should speak privately soon. But for now, attend to your needs and rest. I know it has been a long and weary journey for you and your companions. Dareth shiral, for now."

The two elves bowed to each other once more, then took their leave. Kallian motioned for everyone to begin setting up camp and to relax. Then, she led Loghain around and introduced him to some of the key clan members she'd met: the gatekeeper, Mithras; the lorekeeper, Sarel; Elora, the halla keeper; master craftsman Varathorn - who was quite pleased to see all the supplies brought in by Emissary Caron, particularly the ironbark; and master hunter Athras, who was overseeing the growing Dalish army.

"Greetings, lethallan," Athras said, taking Kallian's hand warmly. She noticed that he wore his late wife's scarf at his hip. He let her hand go and fixed Loghain with a look. "Know that you travel with a very special woman. She has touched many lives here for the better."

"She has touched many lives all over Ferelden, I'm learning," observed the former teyrn.

Looking rather embarrassed, Kallian cleared her throat. "Well," she said, turning to Loghain and placing a hand on his shoulder, "I have a few things to attend to elsewhere in camp. I'll leave you here for the moment. I trust you can find a way to entertain yourself." The Warden shot him a brief smile and wink, then departed.

Loghain watched her go for a while before turning back to Athras. Behind the elf was a line of Dalish practicing archery, shooting a mix of longbows and shortbows across from wooden targets. Athras himself still had a shortbow in hand, having been interrupted by Kallian's visit. The warrior rubbed his chin in thought for a moment, the gestured toward the weapon. "May I?" he asked.

"Of course," the elf answered, offering the bow.

The former teyrn took it and gave a careful appraisal, turning the shortbow this way and that. It appeared to be a sturdy, well-made weapon with a smooth handgrip and good flexibility. He accepted the handful of offered arrows from Athras and aligned himself in front of an unused target. Loghain stretched his neck from side to side and gave his shoulders a good roll, taking a deep breath. It had been several years since he'd last used a bow, but he was confident the feeling would come back to him quickly. The warrior angled his body, spaced his feet apart just so, and held up the bow with his left hand. Notching an arrow with his right hand, he held his left arm out stiffly as he drew the arrow back. Closing one eye, he sighted down the shaft, lined up his aim, and gently let the arrow fly. It hit just barely off-center.

A young elf to his right paused and turned to look at him. The Dalish eyed the sword and shield that Loghain carried, looked over at the near bull's eye sticking out of the wooden target, then looked back at the human with raised eyebrows. "Nice shot, shem!" he commented, sounding obviously impressed.

"You show some respect," Athras barked. "This is a Grey Warden." The other elf ducked his head and looked apologetic.

"I'm just shaking off the dust," Loghain quipped, notching another arrow and looking deadly serious. "I can do better."

* * *

Master Varathorn was more pleased now than he could remember being in a long time. While the prospect of impending war was worrisome, especially with how depleted their clan was after the werewolf scourge, he was seeing more work than he had in years. Varathorn never liked having idle hands. Although he had kept himself and his apprentice busy with various pet projects and crafting goods for trade with human settlements, it was nice to have an even bigger purpose once again. As more Dalish poured into the camp each day from neighboring clans, the demand for his fine crafts had gone up tenfold. Swords, shields, daggers, armor, bows, arrows, enchanted pendants and other charms all kept him happily busy. It was also excellent training for his apprentice. It was one thing to spend ample time and care crafting a hunter a new bow. However, it was something entirely different to produce such weapons in mass quantity, in a short amount of time, and still be confident that they're good enough for an elf to bet his life on its performance and endurance. And now that the Warden had brought a large supply of ironbark, the quality of Varathorn's products would improve enormously.

As if she'd heard his wandering thoughts, the old elf smiled when he spotted Kallian approaching his work station with her trademark, infectious grin. He'd not known her for very long nor particularly well, but she never seemed to be without it for long. Varathorn smiled back at her. "Thank you once more for the ironbark," he greeted. "I'll put it to good use."

"I'd expect no less, Master Varathorn," she replied, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. The craftsman chuckled. When she stood back up, she fixed him with an excited look. "Do you suppose you'd mind putting some of that ironbark to my personal use?"

He scratched at his chin thoughtfully, giving her a long look. "Oh, I don't know..." he replied, drawing out his response. "You'd be back in the order line quite a ways." With a twinkle in his eyes and a quick wink, he added, "But I guess I could make an exception for our dear Warden."

"You're a doll," Kallian chirped, "but terrible at teasing." She pulled a knapsack off her back and started rifling through it. "You really could have strung that out, you know. Played it up."

"Now why would I want to go and do a thing like that?"

The female elf gave a short laugh and smirked. Then, she tore a sheet of parchment out of a journal and put the book back into her sack. "I came up with this idea several weeks ago," she explained, handing him the loose paper. "Struck me in the middle of the night, really," she added, as if that might help his studying of the sketch.

Varathorn looked over the Warden's work. It was an incredibly detailed design for a rather elaborate signet ring, one that would involve slow, careful work in order to bring it to life. "This is quite intricate," he observed.

Kallian look worried. "Is it even possible? I have a bad tendency to sometimes overshoot ideas. I... I can scratch out some of the details if I need to-"

"-no, no, child, hush your troubles," he interrupted. "This is not beyond my skill." After a moment's more consideration, he asked, "What size?"

With a small blush, the Warden reached back into her knapsack, drew out a well-worn glove, and handed it to him. "I don't really know, so I'm hoping this helps."

Varathorn couldn't help but chuckle as he took the glove and started studying it. "Wouldn't it have been easier just to ask your friend his size?" When she didn't answer, he looked up and saw her blush had deepened. "Ah," he concluded, "it's a surprise gift, then, I assume?" She nodded. He sighed, "Then I shall endeavor to take extra special care in making it for you."

"There's one more thing," Kallian said, sounding rather tentative as she rooted around in her bag again. She pulled out a small vial containing a reddish-black, thick liquid. With a deep breath and no other preamble, she plunged into a quick explanation. "This is a little bit of darkspawn blood. If it's possible, I'd like you to somehow incorporate it into the piece. If you don't think you can, _please_ let me know and I'll discard the idea straight away. You'd need to be very, very careful not to get this on you."

He did not look intimidated by the prospect, but he couldn't hide his surprised expression. "May I ask why you'd want to include such a substance?"

"It's traditional," she answered. "Well, actually, it's usually put into a pendant for a new Grey Warden, but I don't think my... friend... is exactly the necklace-wearing sort."

The craftsman nodded. It was an odd request, but not an impossible one. If he was entirely honest with himself, he rather looked forward to the challenge the Warden had given him. Varathorn smiled and said, "Come back around this time tomorrow and I should have it ready for you."

"You're the best!" she beamed. "Oh, and if I could bother you for one more thing..."

Varathorn arched an eyebrow, giving her a patient yet long-suffering look.

"It's easy, I promise," the Warden needled. "If you happen to have a tent in stock and a few paints or inks for me to plunder, you'll have truly made my day."

The master craftsman chuckled once more. "You're just full of unusual requests today, aren't you?" He motioned to his apprentice.

The young Dalish nodded and dug around the back of Varathorn's supply cart. After a few minutes of searching and gathering, he returned with both a tent and a small crate in hand. He set both down on a bit of clear space on the crafting table. Kallian bent over and excitedly picked through the crate of paint vials, setting several aside before pushing the crate back towards the apprentice and nodding. She settled her transaction with the craftsman, gave him a large smile, thanked him once more, then departed happily with her goods gathered up in her arms.

Varathorn carefully looked over her sketch again, making mental measurements for how large and small each detail would need to be in order to all fit cohesively on the ring. He also rooted through his memory for a list of suitable enchantments to put into the jewelry. It was obvious from both the Warden's demeanor and the obvious thought put into her drawing that this signet ring held much significance and meaning to her. He finally settled on a small boost to both strength and constitution to compliment his signature resistance to nature damage charm. All three enchantments were likely to well serve a Grey Warden heading into battle.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of silver armor glinting in the sunlight as a tall figure approached. Suspecting this was probably the future gift recipient walking towards him, Varathorn smoothly whisked up the Warden's ring design parchment and vial of darkspawn blood and deposited them into a hidden corner of his crafting cart. He then pulled out a long, fresh piece of ironbark and laid it upon his workbench. Grabbing his trusty whittling knife, he began to shave the piece down.

The figure came to a stop on the opposite side of the workbench. He cleared his throat and asked, "It's Master Varathorn, right?"

The old elf smiled and looked up, nodding. "Yes," he answered, "although, you're not one of the youngsters, so you don't have to call me master." He chuckled, then inclined his head forward. "Loghain, is it?" The former teyrn bowed his head once in acknowledgement. Varathorn bowed his in response and asked, "What can I do for you today, good ser?"

"I'm looking to secure a bow as well-crafted as this one," said Loghain, handing over the shortbow he'd brought with him. "I understand it is of your making?"

Varathorn took the bow and held it warmly in his hands. Every instrument he created was just slightly different and unique, even more so if he knew the individual for which he was crafting it. That was simply his way, even if the item were one of those to go to trade with the human settlements. He had a long memory for his creations and recognized this particular shortbow very quickly. "This is my work," he admitted, lightly running his fingers over the wood. "I remember crafting this scout's bow for Athras."

Loghain looked impressed. "Yes," he remarked, "that's who I borrowed it from. You take obvious pride in your work."

The elf nodded sagely. "My work is my life. And, incidentally, much of my work goes on to become responsible for the lives of others. This is something that always weighs on me while I work and it is why every piece becomes a bit better than the last."

"It shows," the human remarked. "I do believe this is the finest shortbow I have ever fired."

"My thanks, Ser Loghain," Varathorn said, inclining his head once more.

The warrior held his hands up for a moment, waving him off. "Just Loghain is fine. I'm no knight. Just a Grey Warden."

"Ma nuvenin," said the elf. At Loghain's slightly raised eyebrows, he elaborated, "As you wish, though it is my humble opinion that a Grey Warden is more valuable than a whole company of knights." Setting the bow down, Varathorn caught the man's eyes with his own. "Pardon my observation, but you look as if a longbow would be a better fit than a shortbow."

Loghain smirked. "You're very perceptive. I admit that I prefer the longbow, and I actually want to procure one of those from you as well. The shortbow I'm seeking is... for someone else."

"I see," Varathorn noted. "This is a gift, I presume?"

"No." The man bristled slightly. "This is for someone I promised to teach archery. She is a novice and a shortbow is the easiest to learn on."

The master craftsman raised an eyebrow. "And, naturally, a regular, old practice bow won't do. This... friend... of yours requires something of the highest caliber?" The glare seething from Loghain was nearly palpable. Varathorn shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal manner. "There's no need to get all bunged up about it. I won't breathe a word of it to another soul. Though, now that I know you intend to give this to our dear Warden, I insist that you give me at least a day's time to craft something truly worthy of her from the fresh ironbark your crew brought in."

Loghain's expression could have been mistaken for that of a bull contemplating a direct charge. "How did you know who it was for?" he demanded.

"Call it a hunch," answered Varathorn, grinning. He wandered over to his crafting cart, browsed his selection of longbows on hand, then grabbed one towards the back. "Here", he said, handing it to Loghain. "This longbow looks about right for you. In the meantime, I shall get started on the shortbow for your friend."

The former teyrn took the proffered longbow and looked it over. "My thanks," he finally said. "What do I owe you?"

Varathorn smiled. "First one's free of charge." He winked.

"Unacceptable," Loghain argued.

Sighing, the craftsman said, "Fine. A copper should do to cover materials."

Digging through his coinpurse, Loghain slapped a sovereign on the workbench. "I won't take 'no' for an answer," he added, sliding the coin towards the Dalish.

"Fair enough," Varathorn surrendered, taking the gold coin. "Come back around this time tomorrow."

* * *

Author's Note: You know the drill. If you were able to pause Dragon Age 2 long enough to read my latest installment, a review would be great to let me know what you liked and didn't like. Otherwise, feel free to go back to your gaming whilst I bounce back and forth between writing the next chapter and playing yet another Lady Hawke agonizing over poor Anders. LOL

Dalish language: _Lethallan_ means "friend by blood" or "clansman/cousin" (and is the feminine version, whereas lethallin is the male equivalent); _Andaran atish'an _is a greeting; _abelas_ translates to "sorrow" or "apology"; _dareth shiral _means "goodbye"; _ma nuvenin _translates to "as you wish"

I have no idea why, but lots of random bits in this chapter were written while listening to "Where Is My Mind?" by the Pixies over and over again. I was also several glasses of wine into the night by then, so that may have had something to do with it. *shrugs*

Kallian Sketching the Maps) Written to an instrumental piece - "The Portrait" from the _Back to Titanic _soundtrack... yes, there was actually a second musical score produced from that movie. I don't know which is more sappy and pathetic, though: the fact that I own _both_ versions of the soundtrack from the _same _damn movie, or that by mentioning the song in this context, it conjures up imagines of Kallian as Jack Dawson, sketch artist extraordinaire. And to nip anyone's bizarre thoughts in the bud, there are no plans to continue that mental imagery any further by having Kallian sketch Loghain nude on a couch. LOL

The bit of story told from Daveth's point-of-view was written to Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" on loop. Again, I have no idea why, but that's totally the dog's song. You will never convince me otherwise.

Adalla's Story) Written to Loreena McKennitt's "Dante's Prayer". I'm not ashamed to admit it made me misty-eyed.


	10. Echoes of Ostagar

Author's Note: Gentle readers, I am not using this space to do my usual thanks to reviewers. Instead, this is both a message and an apology to ALL of my readers, be they reviewers, subscribers, or lurkers. As those who have been on-board this fic train for a while well know, I generally update at LEAST once a month, if not sooner when possible. The fact that it has been nearly two months makes me feel terrible, but it was not due to laziness or to distraction by shiny objects (as sometimes is the case for all of us, myself included).

I lost a dearly beloved member of my family early last month. While her death was not unexpected, it still threw me completely off-balance and into a ditch of sadness and self-pity. I have since dragged myself back out and have re-dedicated myself to my hobby and craft. She was the one who first taught me to express myself through art (for her, it was painting... I dabbled a little in that, but found my true passion and calling in literature). It was she who always encouraged me: "Make a joyful noise. Doesn't matter if it's with your voice, your pen, or your paintbrush - just make a joyful noise. Make it a little longer and a little louder everyday, and make the world realize what you have to offer." It is with that lesson that I push forward once more and continue the story I've begun.

I thank you for your patience and patronage. I apologize, once more, for the long delay and hope this new update was worth the wait. And for those of you who were so kind as to review, I will be replying within the next week or so - that is a little tradition I do not intend to let fall by the wayside.

* * *

"You like him, don't you?" Leliana teased.

For a moment, the comment didn't even register. Kallian was concentrating on painting the inside of what would be Loghain's new tent. The night sky and constellations on the ceiling were already completed. Now, with tongue slightly sticking out between her lips, she focused on the very fine details of creating a golden expanse of wheat fields on the interior canvas walls. She and Leliana had been casually conversing about their collaborative plans post-Blight of putting a book out together - a grand tale of their exploits, penned by the bard and illustrated by the sketch artist. The Orlesian's sudden change of subject matter took a moment for the elf to catch. Once she did, Kallian spun her head to gape at Leliana, paintbrush suspended in mid-stroke, utterly flabbergasted and fighting a rising blush.

"Your sudden silence speaks volumes," Leliana needled further.

"Wait, what?" the Warden stammered. Quickly regaining herself, she added defensively, "Nope, no it doesn't. It just means I'm completely shocked by such accusations."

"Mmm-hmmm," hummed the red-head, unconvinced. "So, you meticulously and lovingly paint someone's tent with a picturesque scene because you _don't _like them?"

The elf narrowed her eyes at the bard. "If doing nice things for my companions meant I wanted to get into their pants, I'd have bedded everyone here several times over by now." Leliana's sudden blush gave Kallian a satisfied smirk.

"You make a true point," the human conceded, "but this..." She gestured around at the elaborate scene adorning the tent's walls. "... this is a little more involved, wouldn't you say? Especially combined with the ring you plan on giving him tomorrow night-"

"-That," Kallian barked with a clipped tone and a pointed finger, regretting having shared that little tidbit of information with the bard, "is not what it seems to you." With her free hand, she reached underneath the collar of her tunic and pulled out a round pendant hanging upon a silver chain. "Every Grey Warden is given something to remind them of their duty shortly after the Joining. His Joining was... not under ideal conditions, so that got ignored. I'm simply remedying it now." She tucked the pendant back under her shirt.

"With a ring, Kal? Really?"

"Can you honestly see Loghain wearing a necklace?"

Leliana sighed. "It's just... surely you realize the connotations that brings to mind?"

"No, really, I don't," the Warden snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. "Unless someone _insists_ upon seeing something that isn't there. A nice, well-crafted signet ring is more appropriate for a man than a necklace. That's all."

"The design is rather detailed and complicated," she pushed. "A lot of thought went into it."

Irritated, Kallian replied, "If you hadn't noticed, I put a lot of detail into everything. And I also seem quite good at complicating things as well."

"Very good at denying them, too."

The elf looked about ready to burst. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. "Fine. If it will get you off my back, I admit to liking him as a _friend_. Okay?"

Leliana appeared utterly unconvinced.

"Look," an increasingly exasperated Kallian continued, "we've been getting along rather well lately, yes. I'm actually surprised to consider him a friend. But once you push out of mind everything he's done to make himself completely deserving of derision, he's actually a likeable fellow. Surly, yes. Grumpy, yes. Moody, definitely. But he's got some interesting layers to him." At Leliana's raised eyebrow and crossed arms, Kallian sighed heavily and covered her eyes with one hand. "And, yes, I'll admit he's not hard on the eyes. For a shem," she quickly added.

"Ah-HA!"the bard cried triumphantly, looking far too smug and gleeful for Kallian's tastes. "I _knew_ it!"

"You knew nothing," the elf chided. "Know nothing. Nothing!"

"But you admitted it!"

"No, I admitted nothing of the sort," she defended. "I admitted he's a friend. I admitted he's not bad-looking. That's all I've admitted. That does not a budding romance make." Narrowing her eyes again, she added, "So quickly you forget what he did to my home, my family and neighbors?"

That sobered Leliana a moment. "Of course not! But that seems to be something you've managed to either put aside or work past, is it not? Otherwise, you'd still be at his throat." When Kallian remained silent, she continued, "If anyone could be forgiving and trusting after such actions, Kal, it's you. You've been that way since I first met you, as worrisome as that sometimes makes it for the rest of us. I'd wager you've always been that way."

Kallian was quiet for a long time after that. Then, she said, "Be that as it may, it doesn't necessarily mean he's totally forgiven or that I've forgotten about it. I'm not exactly planning on bringing him to the Alienage and going, "Hey, Papa, guess who's coming to dinner?'"

"Well, that's good," joked Leliana. "At least we don't have to worry about such things yet."

"Hardly," the elf snorted. "But don't you and Zevran have enough to worry about, waiting for the moment he stabs me in the back?"

Leliana shrugged nonchalantly. "Zevran still has his reservations, but I think Loghain becomes more trustworthy with each passing day. Oghren thought he'd have turned on us before reaching the Dalish."

"What?" Kallian asked, slightly startled. "Why was he so put-out by Loghain? Wasn't like _he_ was at Ostagar or anything."

The bard shook her head. "It was nothing personal, I don't think. Just a running bet, but most of us figured if anything suspicious were to happen, he'd have done so by now."

"Is the Blight really so boring that we've been reduced to inter-party relationship rumors now?"

"No," Leliana answered, "although I find the latter _far _more interesting. But I promise not to breathe a word of your secret crush to anyone."

"It's _not _a crush," Kallian sighed, then turned serious, glaring at the red-head and pointing the tip of the paintbrush at her. "Spread any such gossip around and there will be wrath. Too much elven wrath for you to handle." The Orlesian stared back at the elf, looking just as serious for several breaths, before finally starting to giggle. The Warden joined her.

The two girls were still laughing together when Keeper Lanaya poked her head into the tent. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Not at all," replied Kallian.

The Dalish nodded. "Then may I see you out here for a moment?"

Setting her paintbrush down, the Warden took her leave of the bard and followed the Keeper's retreating head. Once outside, Lanaya gestured for her fellow elf to walk beside her for a ways. Once they were a good distance from the tent, Kallian looked over at her expectantly. Nothing was said until the Dalish stopped in front of a tent kept segregated to the outskirts of the encampment. Two elven warriors stood at either side of the entrance. Whether they were to guard from danger posed by the contents of the tent or posed to the contents of the tent remained to be seen.

"There is something I wish you to see," Lanaya said. "Or, rather, someone. He claims to be a survivor from Ostagar, but it's difficult to make much sense of his mad ramblings."

Kallian's eyes widened. "A survivor from Ostagar?"

"That's his story," she confirmed, shrugging, "but like I said, he does not speak much sense."

The Warden shook her head. "Loghain and Wynne need to see this, too, if what he says is true." She turned to go retrieve her companions.

Lanaya stopped her with a light hand to the shoulder. She shook her head, then summoned one of the guards forward. "Jeraard will go for you. This has been put off for too long as it is."

Kallian looked at Jeraard and nodded. "Go find Wynne and Loghain and bring them back here quickly." Realizing most everyone in the Dalish camp would not be nearly as familiar with her companions as she was, the Warden described, "Wynne has white hair up in a bun and red robes. Loghain has shoulder-length black hair and a perpetual scowl. And re-e-eally shiny armor." The guard bowed once and took off towards the main encampment.

The Keeper peeled back the tent fold and motioned inside. The Warden entered and immediately came to an abrupt halt, dumbstruck. Crouching before her was a shell of a man: dirtied, tattered clothes so filthy that their original color was utterly indiscernible; sweaty, matted hair falling in tangles; gaunt, tight face that twitched every few moments; cavernous, haunted, nearly hollow eyes that darted about inside his skull. Kallian was suddenly reminded of Ruck, the mentally damaged dwarf down in the Deep Roads that had survived by eating darkspawn flesh, to the extreme detriment of both body and mind. This was a creature well on its way to becoming a ghoul.

The man paid no attention to his guests. When Lanaya said he was an Ostagar survivor, the Warden had wondered if he might recognize her. It had been a silly, almost narcissistic thought in hindsight - who had she been at Ostagar but a lowly recruit in pieced-together, mis-matched armor? Not to mention she had not had the facial tattoos the Dalish later gifted her with at the time. _No, _she thought, _I suppose I look just like any of the other Dalish he's seen in camp. _

"Shemlen," Lanaya addressed him gently, kneeling down beside the man while keeping a short, cautious distance. He looked suddenly uneasy. The Keeper turned to Kallian and explained, "He wandered close to one of our recent hunting trails a few days ago. Our hunters almost put him out of his misery until he started repeating the words 'Grey Warden' and 'Ostagar'. They brought him back here, thinking I might be able to discern his meaning, that he might have information important for battling the Blight. He has not let me approach him any closer nor answered any questions. I've done my best to heal his wounds, but..."

Kallian shook her head. "Surely he'll not survive much longer in this state?"

"I'm afraid not," confirmed the Keeper. "He does not show much interest in food. At the most, he will pick at it."

"That's probably because he's gotten used to... other tastes," the Warden commented cryptically, shuddering.

Lanaya looked at her fellow elf curiously. When Kallian did not elaborate, she turned back to the crouching man and attempted to attract his awareness again. "Shemlen, I have brought a Grey Warden."

That got his attention. The man immediately turned his head this way and that, looking about as if searching. Finally, his twitchy eyes settled on Kallian and widened, blinking owlishly. He cocked his head to the side like a dog and sniffed loudly. Moving surprisingly fast for his condition, he instantly crossed the distance and snatched the collar of Kallian's leather armor, pulling her down to his level and staring at her, inches away from her face. The elf awkwardly crouched down and tried not to breathe - the man's fetid breath in her face was repugnant and nearly overwhelming. It smelled of sickness, madness, and impending death. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Lanaya quickly rising to her feet and brandishing her mage's staff. The Warden held up a hand to stop her for the time being.

"Grey Warden," the man repeated, over and over again as if in disbelief. "Grey Warden. Grey Warden. The key is at Ostagar. The key..."

"What key?" Loghain's stern, baritone voice entered the tent.

Kallian looked back over her shoulder and saw both Loghain and Wynne stop short, just as she had. Granted, Loghain appeared far less affected by the sight than Wynne... but then again, Kallian reasoned, that was his nature. The afflicted man, however, had a very strong reaction to Loghain. Immediately, he released the Warden's collar and prostrated himself across the floor in front of the former general.

"Teyrn Loghain!" he cried, voice shaking in what almost sounded like reverence. "Teyrn Loghain. You bringin' your flankin' troops? They're here now?"

Complete silence fell over the tent. Lanaya quietly excused herself so all the Ostagar veterans could have some privacy. After several drawn-out moments, Loghain carefully said, "Yes, my army is here now. What have you to report, soldier?"

"Oh, thank the Maker!" the broken man sobbed. "All looked lost until you arrived! Good King Cailan... he has fallen, ser! I was to bring either you or a Grey Warden this message should the worst transpire."

"Stand up," Loghain ordered, "and tell me who brings this important message?" The survivor returned to his crouching position and looked up balefully at the former general. Loghain had a long memory for faces and, despite the man's wear and tear, quickly recognized him. "Long? Frederick Long, is that you?"

The survivor looked lost for a moment, then shook his head vigorously. "I'm sorry, ser, but I can't quite remember some things these days."

Kallian turned and fixed her eyes on Loghain. "Who is he?"

"This was one of Cailan's personal honor guard," he explained.

The Warden nodded, shifting her eyes back over to the broken man. She vaguely recalled talking to a fellow outside King Cailan's tent back at Ostagar, but that had been so brief and so long ago that she couldn't quite place him. Something about that made her feel a bit guilty. She didn't remember him and was certain Alistair probably wouldn't have either, but they'd both condemned Loghain - Alistair much more vehemently than her - for abandoning men to die. Yet, there stood Loghain with nothing but a human husk huddled before him, and he remembered the man's name and position in the army. Kallian suddenly had the nagging suspicion that Loghain could probably name every soldier - and their rank - that he'd left behind.

"Beggin' your pardon, ser," Long interrupted. His face twitched sharply, but otherwise he sounded more coherent for the time-being. "But who I am really isn't of import. The key is."

"The poor thing," Wynne sighed, shaking her head sadly. "Such loyalty... only to be rewarded with suffering." She turned a glaring eye towards Loghain, giving him the especially nasty look she spared only for him.

"Unfortunately, mage, loyalty and suffering often go hand-in-hand," he growled before addressing Frederick once more. "What is this message about a key?"

The man's eyes went out of focus. "The key," he whispered, causing the others to lean closer in order to properly hear, "is at Ostagar."

"The key to what?"

A few confused blinks. "The key to King Cailan's chest."

Loghain tossed his hands up in frustration and turned his back on the former guard.

Kallian looked intrigued. "What's in the chest?"

Frederick appeared to look past them, but continued whispering, "Things important to Ferelden. Things that... must not fall... into darkspawn hands."

"What kind of things?"

"I..." he sighed, "I don't remember. But there is something that should go to Arl Eamon. And something that should go to the Grey Warden."

Loghain spun back around, fire in his eyes. "_What's_ meant for Eamon?"

The confused man ducked his head, as if waiting to be struck. "I don't know, m'lord!"

Wynne took a tentative step forward. "You said something was to go to the Grey Warden," she ventured. "Which Grey Warden is that? There were several at Ostagar."

Frederick looked all about him, seeing many things that were not present but failing to see his audience any longer. However, he still struggled valiantly to try and answer their questions. "I... I don't rightly know. King Cailan just said... just said that the Grey Warden should use the sword. Use the sword for Ferelden. And when I was wanderin' about the Wilds, the witch said somethin' about the Grey Warden, too."

"Woah, woah, what?" Kallian gaped.

"What witch?" Loghain suddenly demanded.

"The W-Witch of the W-Wilds," the man stammered.

The former teyrn appeared unusually uneasy at the name. "And what did she say about the Warden?"

"I can't recall," he lamented. "It all runs together in m'head."

Loghain looked as if he were about to start shouting, but was cut short by the man's ragged coughing. The heaving became so violent that he fell backwards and struggled on the floor. Wynne rushed forward to try and aid him, but Frederick screamed and flailed his limbs as if she were an attacker. Keeper Lanaya and the two elven guards rushed in, alarmed, and the tent suddenly became much more crowded. Between the survivor's obscure references to Flemeth and swords and Ostagar, and the sheer volume of bodies stuffing the tent, Kallian suddenly found it rather difficult to catch her breath.

"The key..." rasped the dying man, sounding relatively lucid once more. "The good king made me hide it... before the battle. Just in case." He coughed again. A thin trickle of blood crawled down from the corner of his mouth. "There is a statue with some loose stones behind it. I... I hid the key underneath the stones. Look for the statue in the courtyard." After a brief pause, he smiled and gazed up at everything and nothing all at once. "It is done, my king."

With one last, shuddering breath, Frederick Long finally died.

* * *

"Ashes we were and ashes we become," Wynne intoned solemnly. "Maker, give this man a place at Your side. Let us find comfort in the peace he will find in eternity."

Kallian raised her bowed head and looked upon the funeral pyre they had made for the Ostagar survivor. It was in a clearing not too far from the outskirts of the Dalish encampment, well away from the surrounding trees and brush. Just the three of them had carried it out, feeling it was only right given their shared history with the soldier.

Now that it was done, however, it gave the Warden idle hands - which always, inevitably, led to not-so-idle thoughts. Long's strange, cryptic message both puzzled and frightened her. What had Flemeth said about her... and when? The elf had slain the witch at Morrigan's behest, but that left plenty of time in between the Battle of Ostagar and her death for her to have encountered Frederick. And what was in the chest that was of such importance to Ferelden? There had been mention of a sword, but why would Cailan have left some random sword locked up and, more perplexing, why would he have wanted a Grey Warden to have it in case he died?

The elf took a deep breath and prepared to break their strained silence in order to voice some of her questions and concerns, but Wynne beat her to it. With a face that suddenly looked much older, the healer quietly spoke, "He held on long enough to deliver his message. All this long time of pain and suffering, just to fulfill one last duty to his king. We should all be so loyal and steadfast."

"You can stop scowling at me, madam," Loghain sneered.

"Did I need your permission?" she shot back, looking as if she had something distasteful stuck under her nose. "This poor man was just one of the many that you left to die. I was at Ostagar. I saw the slaughter of the army. I witnessed Cailan's murder."

"Such loyalty."

"What is_ that _supposed to mean?" she rounded on him.

"Did you try to save him, then?" Loghain sarcastically quipped. "My apologies."

"Please, you two," Kallian interrupted. "Let's not do this, shall we?"

"I was fortunate to escape with my life!" Wynne defensively yelled.

"So, you didn't rush to your king's rescue? I see." He narrowed his eyes at the healer. "Then both of us left the boy to die."

"None of this is going to help solve anything," the Warden stated, trying to be the calm voice of reason and stop the impending powderkeg from erupting. "What's done is done. Time to move on."

"I was no general at the head of an army!" the healer spat, entire body suddenly taut with animosity. "I could never have reached him!"

Coolly, Loghain rebutted, "And I had no magic that could break those darkspawn ranks. But perhaps you think I ought to have tried, regardless. No doubt, the lives of mere soldiers are cheap in the eyes of the Circle."

The elf buried her face in her hands and groaned irritably. "Guys..."

"And what of all the soldiers who died with their king?" blasted Wynne. "Their lives were worth _nothing _to you."

Kallian watched warily as Loghain swelled with a sudden, incensed fury. He glared icy, blue daggers at Wynne, who had enough good sense to realize she'd taken the argument a step too far and shrank back from the wrath that palpably emanated from the warrior. "You think so, do you?" he snarled, teeth bared. "I knew their names, mage, and where they came from. I knew their families!"

Wynne suddenly looked away, though whether it was from some amount of shame and regret or simply to escape the former general's wicked glower, the Warden couldn't tell. At any rate, the gesture appeared to placate Loghain to some degree. He turned his back on the healer and stared at the burning pyre that Frederick Long's tainted body laid upon. "I do not know how you mages determine the value of things," he continued, voice both powerful and heart-breaking, "but they were _my_ men. I know _exactly_ how much I lost that day."

After a brief silence, the elf felt something needed to be said. What that something should be, she wasn't sure, so she just went with what felt right. "I'm sorry, Loghain." Mentally, she added, _Sorry for Wynne's constant needling. Sorry that you had to make the choices you did. Sorry that you have to live with them now. Sorry I couldn't light the beacon in time..._

Loghain turned around slowly and looked at the Warden. He caught her eyes with his usual steely gaze, but something within them surprisingly softened. For a moment, Kallian wasn't sure if she were imaging things or not. Then, with a gentle tone completely devoid of his previous rage, the former teyrn said softly, "None of us came out of Ostagar looking good. You've no need to apologize to me, Warden."

Something in the way he spoke and looked at her just then touched a spark buried deep within the elf. Several conflicting desires struck her all at once: she wanted to suddenly look away from him, or to run away and be alone, or to say 'sod it all' and go running into his arms. Instead, she stood as if frozen, staring at someone that completely baffled her. Someone who had parts she admired, parts she hated, parts she liked, and parts she failed to understand at all and highly doubted she ever would.

Loghain simply stood there like she did, a striking figure that well-suited the wall of flames behind him. The funeral pyre's blaze lit him up and formed a fascinating dichotomy. It added to his fierce, intimidating aura and made him look not unlike the savage wyvern that was his teyrnir's symbol. Yet, at the same time, the fiery tendrils danced all around his silhouette, creating an image as if they might bodily consume him just as his passions had nearly consumed all of his morality. The sight captivated the Warden and she found herself feeling rather flustered, much to her chagrin and no small amount of alarm.

Wynne pulled them both out of their shared, otherworldly moment by loudly clearing her throat. "Now that we have taken care of the poor boy, don't you think we should try and puzzle out just what he meant? It was obviously something he felt important enough to suffer long and hard to tell us."

Quickly recovering, Kallian agreed. "Yes, we really ought to. Do either of you know anything about this supposed sword he mentioned? A Grey Warden is supposed to 'use it for Ferelden' or some such? Cailan had _his_ sword with him during the battle, obviously. So, what could he have been talking about?"

"It doesn't make any sense to me," Loghain grumbled, wearily rubbing his eyes. "I would assume Cailan kept his father's sword locked up in that chest. The blade seemed to have an adverse effect on the darkspawn - even appeared to sense their presence - but it was not particularly special beyond that, far as I could tell."

"Maric had this sword made?" the Warden asked.

"No." Loghain shook his head, eyebrows furrowing as he sifted through his memories. "No, he... I think he found it in the Deep Roads."

Kallian's eyes widened. "Do you suppose it's something meant to cut down the Archdemon?" she asked excitedly, hoping they might have stumbled upon a clue for killing the tainted dragon. "That maybe a Grey Warden is meant to wield it? That might explain why it was in the Deep Roads... why he'd have wanted a Grey Warden to use it!"

"If a Grey Warden was meant to end a Blight with it, why was it _left _in the Deep Roads to begin with? Why would no parties be sent to retrieve something so important?" the tactician reasoned. "And why wouldn't Cailan have simply given it to Duncan or one of the other Senior Wardens? He had _ample_ opportunity to bring this up during the strategy meetings." Loghain made a derisive grunt. "Actually, it would have been rather out-of-character for him _not_ to bring up something as fanciful as a magical Grey Warden relic, particularly one in _his_ possession."

"Maybe he was saving it for the right moment?" Kallian reasoned, trying to hold onto some hope that they finally had an answer to ending the Blight. "Didn't your scouts say no dragon had been seen in the woods? Maybe Cailan was waiting for some sign of the Archdemon before risking the sword in battle?"

"It _is_ possible," Wynne reasoned, also sounding hopeful.

"But highly doubtful," Loghain argued. "More likely it was Cailan's own vanity in wanting a Grey Warden to use _his_ family sword."

"It may be worth a return to Ostagar," the elf mentioned. "Might not be a bad idea to have it on hand, anyhow, just in case."

"Absolutely not!" the former teyrn shouted.

"What's the matter, Loghain Mac Tir?" asked the healer. "Afraid to face the ghosts you so callously left behind?"

Narrowing his eyes, Loghain huffed. "I'm more concerned with the darkspawn that overwhelmed the fortress. Why risk taking a small party into a sure deathtrap just to chase the _chance_ of an enchanted weapon? There's no assurance the chest hasn't been compromised during all this time."

"And what of the package that was to go to Arl Eamon?" Wynne asked.

"I couldn't care less what Cailan wanted delivered to that pompous, useless windbag," he spat. "If it contained information vital to Ferelden, he'd have wanted it to go to his queen, would he not?"

"Oh, I don't know!" she sighed, tossing her hands up in frustration. "But if it wasn't important, why would that poor lad have traversed half the countryside trying to deliver his message to the right people? It seems such a waste of his life not to act on it."

"We have no idea if it was actually important or not. Importance can be a rather subjective matter; what's important to one is not always important to another," Loghain countered. "And you are conveniently forgetting that Long was not in his right mind. How can we be so sure he didn't just hallucinate the whole thing? Are we really willing to risk more lives and valuable time returning to that cursed place?"

The mage turned her eye to the Warden, who was gazing deeply into the fire and appeared lost in thought. Clearing her throat again, she said, "Well, Warden, you've become awfully quiet. What are your thoughts?" At that, Loghain also looked over and awaited her response.

Kallian blinked a few times and turned her head from one to the other. After several moments' hesitation, she announced, "I think it's something I need to ponder on for a bit longer. Let's not make any decisions today." Pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes, she added, "It's been a long enough one already."

* * *

By day's end, Loghain was more than ready to be rid of his armor and that Redcliffe soldier's damned tiny clothing. Hoping that at least one set of clothes would have finished drying by now, he made his way over to Bodahn's wagon. As the cart came into view, however, the warrior stopped short and crinkled his brows in puzzlement. The strung-up clothesline - not to mention all his garments and bedroll that were previously hanging on it - were gone. Sighing, he walked around to the back to peer inside and nearly stumbled into Bodahn.

"Ah, there you are!" the dwarf called. "I was just getting ready to come looking for you, Master Loghain."

"Really, just Loghain is fine."

Bodahn shrugged. "As you wish. At any rate, Miss Kallian told me that if you came 'round, I was to give you these." Reaching into the back of his covered cart, the dwarf pulled out a fresh, dry set of clothing and handed it over. "I do apologize, but the boots are proving a bit harder to dry out."

"That's fine. Wouldn't be the first time I went barefoot," chuckled Loghain. "Although, I am curious as to where everything else went."

"I believe those are packed back up in your new tent, ser."

"Excellent. Now, if you'll just point me in the right direction..."

"I'm sorry," Bodahn countered quickly, "but I'm under strict orders not to." At Loghain's arched eyebrow, the merchant explained, "I think Miss Kallian has some sort of surprise planned. She was quite insistent that she be the one to show you to your tent later."

"All right," Loghain said tentatively. _Maker only knows what that girl is up to now, _he inwardly sighed. Clearing his throat, he added, "That being the case, should I just strip out here in front of the Maker and everybody else?"

"Oh, right!" Bodahn exclaimed, looking rather embarrassed. "My apologies. Feel free to use the back of my wagon. I ought to head over to the main campfire anyway, make sure my boy isn't getting into any trouble with the natives, if you know what I mean?" With that, the dwarf quickly made his way out of sight.

Shaking his head in subtle amusement, Loghain took advantage of the merchant's offer. After he finished carefully storing his River Dane armor, he stepped back out of the wagon comfortably dressed in loose pantaloons and a tunic actually his size. He took a moment to simply stand there and stretch, sighing in contentment - not terribly unlike Daveth's doggy stretches. Then, the warrior followed Bodahn's path over towards the Dalish encampment's large, main fire.

A large portion of the Dalish, as well as most of the Warden's party, were already gathered there. Sten stood a little apart from everyone else, holding a wooden bowl in his hand and appearing to greatly enjoy the stew that Elora the Halla Keeper was dolling out to the gathering. Wynne sat on a log and gently held the elven Gwaren refugee they'd rescued; the little girl apparently tuckered out from an exciting day of running around and playing with the other elven children. Zevran and Oghren sat side-by-side on the ground across from a pair of young Dalish. A set of carved, wooden pieces lay on a piece of painted cloth between them. Whatever game they were playing, it was obvious from the looks on the Dalish elves' faces that the visitors were winning. Leliana sat near the elven storyteller, currently absorbed in his re-telling of some Dalish legend about elven gods. Morrigan, characteristically, was nowhere in sight.

Which left the Warden. She sat in the very center of a log, completely occupying the space for herself. Daveth laid by her feet, occasionally twitching and snoring in his slumber. As soon as Kallian spotted him, she smiled warmly, slid over to one side of the log, and made sure he saw her patting the now open seat right next to her. Loghain chuckled, shot one eyebrow up, and gave the Warden a half-smirk before acquiescing to her unspoken command.

As he settled in, she gave him a quick glance up and down. "You look much more comfy now."

"Indeed," he admitted. With no preamble, he turned to her and asked, "What's this about some big surprise or secret at my tent?"

"Sh-h-h-h..." was all she said, giving him a brief, coy look before turning her attention back to Sarel's story about the Dread Wolf.

After a few moments, Elora came by and handed Loghain a bowl of the Dalish stew. He quietly thanked her and ate contentedly, not particularly interested in the old elven lore being spun, but happy with the simple comforts, nonetheless. However, when the storyteller had finished, Leliana spoke up and began to recall her own, personal tales of the Warden's exploits. A few of the Dalish in the outskirts of the gathering shot the human nasty looks and grumbled amongst themselves before someone finally shooshed them.

The former teyrn set down his bowl and focused his full attention on the bard, both amused and captivated to hear some of Kallian's many trials and tribulations while he'd been in Denerim. He'd heard snatches and snippets of them around the campfire before, but much of it passed as unspoken, inside knowledge from all the party members that had been there to share in her adventures. To hear them told in vivid detail for an uninformed audience was, honestly, a real treat. At one point, Zevran even abandoned his game to join in weaving the story of the Warden's battle with the Witch of the Wilds. Every now and then, Loghain glanced over at Kallian with a rather bemused expression or cocked eyebrow. She'd shoot back an appropriate response, ranging from a blush, a smarmy grin, or a dramatic roll of the eyes.

Eventually - or, rather, predictably, in Loghain's opinion - some of the younger Dalish began asking where the Warden had originally come from and how she'd become a Grey Warden. He was impressed with the way Kallian managed to twist and dodge around directly answering those questions. She spoke briefly about being raised in the capital and simply stated that a Grey Warden had thought she posed some potential and, thus, recruited her to accompany him to Ostagar. All things that Loghain knew to be technically true, but that he also suspected avoided the real meat and potatoes of her personal story.

One of the children, in her innocence, asked if there was a Dalish clan in Denerim from which the Warden had come. _Because she hasn't any idea elves other than the Dalish exist, _Loghain realized, shaking his head. Kallian didn't immediately answer. One of the older elves snorted and spat at the ground. Another one apparently summed up the general Dalish consensus with the charming epithet of "Piss on the Alienages!" Many nodded or grunted their approval.

Loghain was a bit surprised, knowing the Warden's temper first-hand, but to Kallian's credit, she kept a level head. She said not a word in response. Didn't even frown or furrow her brow. Instead, she kept a calm demeanor and blank face. Then, she stood up slowly, turned around, and left the main campground, heading in the direction of the pond beside the halla keep. He watched her go and mentally debated if he should go after her or leave her to stew in private.

One of the old, female elves elbowed her husband roughly and chastised, "You oughtn't be rude to the Grey Warden! She can't help her parentage."

"Hmph!" the old man scoffed. "What does it matter? She could go on to slay the Archdemon herself, but she was still raised to be a submissive, cowering dog to the shemlen." He scowled meaningfully at Leliana, Wynne, and Loghain. "I wish it could be one of our own! A Dalish Grey Warden would show all of them that we haven't forgotten we're wolves - true hunters, proud, bending to no one!"

That made up his mind. Loghain narrowed his eyes and glared at the old Dalish curmudgeon. Then, as the Warden's friends shouted angry protests in her defense, he quickly stood up and followed Kallian's trail. He'd heard more than enough for one night.

Kallian hadn't gone off too far. Loghain found her sitting against a Dalish lamppost in front of the halla pond, awash in the light cast down by the blue-flamed lantern. Legs drawn up to her chest and left arm wrapped around them, she rested her chin on her knees. She held her right hand up in front of her and appeared to be twiddling her fingers. As Loghain drew closer, he saw that, rather than twiddling, the elf actually had her purple high dragon scale out. She flexed and moved her dexterous, juggler's fingers in such a way as to make the scale travel and dance back and forth across her knuckles. He stopped and watched, unsure if he should intrude. After several moments of hesitation, he turned to leave.

"What? Afraid some of my Alienage disease might rub off on you, too?"

Loghain was a bit surprised at how much the sharp edge to her tone cut him. "My apologies," he said tersely. "I shouldn't disturb you."

He'd only made it a few more steps when her voice, suddenly less bitter and more melancholy, stopped him. "Please, don't go," she asked. "I'm sorry. You're not the enemy here."

_I once was, _he thought sourly, _for a very long time. _"If that's what you wish," he answered. "I don't want to be a bother."

"You're never a bother! I enjoy your company, Loghain."

Something in his chest briefly fluttered at the depth of sincerity in her voice. It was not often someone claimed to actually enjoy being around him, after all. The former teyrn turned around and gave the Warden a questioning look. Her large, brown eyes answered him, pleading for his presence. Sighing quietly to himself and feeling rather unnerved at the sway she was beginning to have with him, Loghain walked back towards the elf. However, much like a stray cat wishing to be fed yet wanting to retain some modicum of independence and aloofness, he chose to meet her request halfway. Once in range, instead of sitting down beside her, he stood by her side and casually leaned against the lamppost.

Kallian looked up at Loghain and gave him a small, sad smile. Then, she deeply sighed and returned to staring at the scale, which she now held still in the palm of her hand. "What was it you said to me that first night in camp?" she asked. "Something about fate having a sense of humor?"

"Fate has a twisted sense of humor," he supplied.

"It certainly does, doesn't it?" the Warden quietly chuckled, but it was a sullen sound. "I spent my whole life trying to get out of the Alienage. And you know what? Now that I have, it's hard not to constantly think about going back." The elf barked out a rueful laugh. "But you can't go home again. I learned that when I returned to Denerim for the Landsmeet. The Alienage had... changed... somehow. Everyone inside was different from how I remembered them. It felt... off. Strange. Different. Growing up there, you learn nothing ever changes in the Alienage. Not really, anyway. So, it was... rather unsettling and not quite the homecoming I imagined. Guess the purge after I left changed a lot of things.

"Or maybe it's just me that's changed," she continued in a wistful tone. "I'm not the same person I was before I got dragged away. At least before, I _belonged_ in the Alienage. I resented it, but I belonged. Now, I don't belong anywhere. Not in the Alienage. Not with the Dalish. Human settlements will probably never truly accept elves as equal citizens. I suppose being a Grey Warden is really all I have left to me. A cold comfort, that."

"Had I not seen the sudden outburst earlier tonight," he commented, "I would've thought you'd join the Dalish if we survive all this."

"Yes, that wasn't exactly their best side," she agreed. "Trust me, it's not been an easy relationship. They are quite a mixed bunch. To their credit, most were fair to me when I first met them, even though they were wary. Some semblance of elven brotherhood still exists, however small and fleeting. After helping them with their little, furry problem - as I like to call it - they were much more accepting of me. But there is a steadfast group that refuses to look past the whole 'city elf' label. Lanaya is very fortunate."

"How so?"

"Oh, I didn't mention it, did I?" Kallian realized. "Yes, the keeper actually started life like I did. She was a city elf. Her parents were murdered by bandits and she was taken as a... servant... before this clan's former keeper rescued her. Lanaya was very young, though. She may have been born in the city, but she was raised Dalish. In time, the clan accepted her as one of their own.

"She extended an invitation to me, if I desired, but I don't think I'll take her up on it. I'd never really be accepted; I've been in the city too long." She sighed. "Besides, look at me. I don't really belong here. I don't believe in their gods. I don't believe that wandering in the woods will eventually bring back some wondrous, elven city of yore. I may be an elf, but I have more in common with you humans than I do my own kind. We can pass down the legends of the old ways and think of them fondly, but that time is long gone for us. We have to pick up and try to figure out a new path, a new future for our kind. That's simply the cold, hard truth."

"I can see how that wouldn't be a particularly well-received opinion here," he observed. "I had just assumed..." he added, gesturing to his face to indicate her tattoos.

"The vallaslin," she remarked, self-consciously reaching up and touching the griffon wings on her cheeks. "Lanaya graciously gave it to me after I cured the hunters of the werewolf curse. When I'd learned what the vallaslin signified, I requested it... though, it's not quite in the same vein as the Dalish tradition. There are several here who greatly resent me for my decision. I can understand. It would appear as blasphemy to them."

"I'm afraid I don't understand at all," Loghain said, finally sitting down beside her and studying the grey traces of her tattoos. "If you didn't intend to join the Dalish after the Blight, why make yourself look like them?"

"It wasn't to look like them," Kallian explained. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she continued, "The Dalish use the vallaslin to represent a young elf who has reached maturity. The style of the tattoo is based on the elven god they most identify with. For example, a hunter apprentice who has finally made his first kill would receive vallaslin representing Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt."

"And I'm assuming yours is no elven god or goddess?"

"Right, hence the blasphemy comment. Lacking a better idea, I asked for some representation of a griffon, since being a Grey Warden seems to be my new lot in life. Lanaya was familiar enough with Warden lore to do it justice - a wing on each cheek and a beak on the forehead," she described, tracing each feature fondly as she named it. "When I was forced to leave the Alienage, I was not yet considered an adult. This was more for me than anything else. It was my own, personal way of marking a passage in my life - for if everything I've been through since Ostagar has not transitioned me from a girl into a woman, I don't know what would."

Loghain frowned. "I'm afraid I still don't quite understand. You've said before that you've been a Grey Warden for over a year now. You look as if you've been of age for at least a few years."

Kallian shook her head. "In the Alienage, maturity is not viewed in years. It's marked with life changes. An elf becomes an adult when he or she gets married."

"But you said you were almost married once, right?" he asked. "That didn't count?"

"Not quite," the Warden answered. She was quiet for several, long moments. After a while, Loghain wasn't sure if she would continue or not. However, she finally admitted, "It's a rather long and unpleasant story."

"Isn't that usually the case?" he reasoned. "People in our position hardly come from happy, stable backgrounds."

She looked at him askance, then nodded. "I suppose you're right. I assume yours is probably no more delightful than mine."

"I'd wager not."

She sighed heavily, appearing at odds with herself. Locking her eyes on his and looking very serious, she confided, "The only other person, besides those directly involved, who knew all the details was Alistair. Everyone else - just shadows and whispers. I'm sure the Denerim paper probably carried the story shortly after. It was a rather sordid affair and, I'll bet, a scandal in the nobility's world. But what I'm about to tell you is the honest truth of it... and it is not something I'm particularly proud of."

Loghain said nothing, but nodded gently.

Kallian closed her eyes, gripped the dragon scale tightly in her right hand, took a deep and shuddering breath, and began. "It was my wedding day and I had been dreading it for weeks. Nobody could understand why, not even Shianni and she's like a sister to me. 'He's handsome, that Nelaros,' she'd said and was all excited. 'Your father's picked out a good, strong lad for you.' I almost swear she was jealous. And to be honest, I guess it looked like a good match. I didn't have anything against the Highever boy Papa was bringing in... but I didn't want to marry him.

"In a way, maybe I _hadn't _grown up just yet. I was still clinging to a hope and dream of making it out of the Alienage, being a hero like I'd pretended to be all through childhood. Getting married would mean the end of all that. The Alienage would be permanent, I'd be expected to raise a family... all ideas that frightened me. At least my other cousin, Soris, could relate to the frightened bit. You see, he was getting paired off as well, but he didn't hate it like I did. He just didn't know what to do. Apparently, he didn't take my suggestion to run away and join the Dalish as a serious one. I was dead serious."

She paused and chuckled to herself, looking around. Loghain cracked a small smile and wryly commented, "At least irony doesn't have an exclusive hold on just me."

"No," she sighed, face falling once more. "I suppose not. That morning, we got a taste of what was to come. Bann Vaughan and two of his mindless, noble companions trotted in. They made a show of thinking they could simply waltz right into the Alienage and pick out a few elves to satisfy their needs." She made a disgusted face. "While Valendrian was trying to peacefully get them to leave, Shianni clubbed Vaughan in the back of the head with a water jug."

"Not the best plan," Loghain chuckled, "but good on her for trying."

"At the time, I thought the same thing, though obviously Valendrian didn't." Somberly, she continued, "Vaughan and his goons returned later, during the actual wedding ceremony. As you can imagine, he was not pleased by earlier events and was bent on having his way. They rounded up the women of the wedding party, including Shianni, Soris's bride Valora, and me. I tried to stop them, but they were forced to knock me out."

"I can imagine," Loghain noted with respect in his voice, "given your natural ferocity."

Staring out across the pond, the Warden appeared to brace herself before going on. "When I came around, we were locked in a room in the arl's estate. Some guards came shortly after that to bring us all to Vaughan's private chambers." Kallian's face grew dark. "Evie, one of the bridesmaids, a girl I'd grown up with, had known all my life... she pleaded with them to let us go. They laughed. Then, they killed her. Right there in front of us, they murdered a frightened, unarmed woman. Because she was an elf - and nobody cares what happens to some nameless elf, right?" Her fists balled up tightly. "They dragged the rest out, saving me for last since, apparently, I was already tagged as the 'difficult scrapper.' It was right then that Soris appeared in the doorway, armed. I was as flabbergasted as the guards. He slid a longsword and a dagger to me and we made quick work of those two leering louts."

"How did an elf manage to get into the arl's estate armed?" he inquired.

"Soris told me that Duncan - of all people - had given Nelaros and him the weapons and told them to go do what they must," she answered, shrugging.

"Hmm," Loghain wondered aloud. "Odd that a Grey Warden would involve himself."

"Regardless, I wasn't about to question my fortune at the time," answered Kallian. "I didn't exactly relish the thought of trying to do anymore fighting in my wedding dress, so we took the armor off the two dead guards and used it ourselves. We made our way as best we could, sneaking by guards when possible. The elven servants in the castle helped us whenpossible, giving directions.

"Along the way, we met up with Nelaros just in time to see more guards cut him down." Her voice softened. "It's true that I hadn't wanted to get married, but I didn't wish to see him dead either. Especially not dying trying to rescue me. It still makes me feel guilty for having treated him with such a cold shoulder prior to the ceremony."

The Warden bit her lower lip and pushed forward. "At any rate, after cutting a bloody swath through the castle, we finally found Vaughan's chambers. When we burst in..." Kallian paused, collecting herself. She was silent for so long that Loghain looked over and saw that she was fighting hard not to cry. Hesitantly, he reached over and placed his hand over hers. The Warden took a deep breath and, through gritted teeth, continued, "When we burst in, the pig had just finished raping her. He was buttoning up his fancy little trousers while my cousin lay trembling and sobbing on the floor." Her breath hitched. "And you want to know what's worse?"

When she looked over at Loghain, his expression had darkened and a deep scowl dominated his features. He had lived through a very similar ordeal, after all. The Warden's story was both drawing uncomfortable parallels between them in addition to dredging up memories Loghain would just as soon keep buried deep within his soul.

The elf composed herself and continued, "That lecherous snake tried to plead for his life. He offered us a large sum of money if we'd just walk right back out the door and let him continue raping my cousin before most assuredly moving on to the other girls. When we refused, he threatened to have the Alienage purged."

"And what did you do?" Loghain asked, voice thick and hoarse. He already knew the answer, of course. The _Denerim Weekly _had run giant headlines about the 'Bann Butcherer', although the story conveniently left out the sins of Vaughan. More of the grim details had surfaced while he'd been trying to dig up dirt on the Warden to smear her at the Landsmeet. The former teyrn, however, wanted to hear the rest of the story from Kallian herself.

"I gutted him like the pig he was," she answered harshly, "and I revelled in it."

Loghain nodded in approval. "Good."

"Duncan was forced to invoke the Grey Wardens' Rite of Conscription after that," the elf continued, "or otherwise I'd have surely swung from the gallows for murdering nobility."

"Soris was not in danger for his part in your rescue?" he questioned.

"I took full responsibility," she answered. "Before we left the estate, we hid our weapons. Made up a cover story that Soris had been kidnapped along with us and the gore he was covered in was all from Vaughan when I killed him. Told them I acted alone. After all, the only ones who had seen him with me in the castle were either dead or servants who know it's always best to plead ignorance."

"And what of Shianni?" he gently asked. "How did she fare after...?"

"Shianni is a strong woman," Kallian said, regaining some strength through remembrance of her steadfast cousin. "She seems to have moved past it as well as one can be expected. When I was last in the Alienage, she was acting as the temporary hahren in Valendrian's absence."

Loghain glanced down at the ground between his feet. He was not entirely sure what to think of that, but he certainly felt an unsettling mix of emotions: contentment that the Warden's family member was doing well, a bit of pride and awe at Kallian's heroic actions and her subsequent willingness to assume all the consequences, and the dull, familiar ache of guilt and regret that someone just as young as the Warden had to take on the mantle of leadership because his actions had stolen much of the age and strength out of the Alienage and shipped it to Tevinter in chains.

Kallian was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she missed seeing any signs of the former teyrn's own uneasiness. The Warden wearily wiped her forehead with the back of an arm and sighed, looking once more at the purple dragon scale. "And that's my story," she announced, her voice full of mockery and a hint of self-loathing. "My wondrous, awe-inspiring story! I became a Grey Warden because my other option was death. I prayed to the Maker to get me out of a marriage I did not desire and behold! I got my wish. I'm out of the Alienage and I'm some big hero out to save the world now. Sure, it came at the price of many, many lives and the torture of one of my cousins. But I sure got what I wanted, didn't I?" The elf gritted her teeth.

"Warden," Loghain said. When she didn't immediately react, he grabbed both her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Warden," he repeated in a firm and commanding tone, "you are _not_ responsible for the actions of others. You did what you had to in order to rescue your loved ones. That's all any of us can do."

The elf shook her head, eyes threatening tears she fought to keep from falling. "I should have done more."

"What more could you have done?" he reasoned, both sympathy and determination etched into his blue eyes. "Trust me, Warden, I know _exactly_ what this feels like. More than you can imagine. All we can do is everything that we physically can, then hope for the best."

"But... but I don't know why I was recruited other than pity," she finally admitted. "Duncan only recruited me because I was going to be hanged. I wasn't brave. Everything I did, I did out of anger and fear."

"The very definition of bravery is acting in spite of your fears," said the former general. At Kallian's confused look, he elaborated, "Only the stupid and the foolhardy charge into battle with no fear. True bravery is recognizing the threat something represents, then charging forward anyway to vanquish it."

The elf was quiet for a moment. Then, she asked something that had been on her mind for a while. "You are brave, Loghain. You're a proven hero. Why would Duncan have passed over the opportunity to recruit you? Why come to the Alienage at all, let alone recruit me? How could I possibly hold more potential than the Hero of River Dane?"

"Had I thought you incapable of ending this Blight, Warden," explained Loghain, "I would not be following you right now. I'd be doing it myself and you would possibly be dead, depending on your reaction to my mutiny. However, I _do_ believe in you. There is something in you - some spark - that I lack. That I've always lacked. You _inspire_ people. Look around you; look at your fellow companions. Any one of us would lay down our lives for you without a second thought, without a moment's hesitation. You bring that out in people. You bring out the best of us. That is not a skill that can be learned. That is a gift... a Maker-given gift that very few are blessed with." _Maric had such a gift and so do you, _thought Loghain, the realization serving both to make him feel a bit discomfited yet, oddly enough, reassured.

Kallian looked at him as though she were overwhelmed by his words, blinking back the tears that had threatened her earlier. His hands still rested on her shoulders. In response, she lightly grabbed one of his forearms and held onto it. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "You are a remarkable young lady. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise." At her sudden blush, he continued, "I think you'll be fine. You're already a strong leader now. You'll only get better. This... may or may not be a comfort to you, but you remind me of someone I once knew. In several ways, actually, strange as that seems to me at times. Like you, he had raw talent and leadership abilities, but he was still figuring out just how to wield them. He was young, quite young, when life truly started to test him. He was thrown into the fire utterly against his will and didn't handle it with much grace at first, but he survived. And, learning on his feet and on the run, he shaped up into a real hero."

For the first time in a while, Kallian shot him her trademark smirk. "And this is the part where you reveal that I remind you of yourself at my age?"

"No," Loghain answered, a bit ruffled. "This is the part where I tell you he later went on to become King of Ferelden. But I appreciate the sentiment of you thinking I am a real hero."

"You speak as though you aren't one," she remarked.

"Do you think I am," he asked, "in light of everything I've done?"

Kallian balked and said, "You'll always be a hero to the people of Ferelden."

"That wasn't what I asked," Loghain replied.

"Fine," the Warden answered, narrowing her eyes, "then I'll show you."

With that, she grabbed one of the hands he held on her shoulder and pulled him up with her as she stood. She turned from the pond and led him through a zig-zag of tents. After passing by several, she approached one in particular. To his eyes, it looked indistinguishable from all the other tents nearby. However, the elf seemed certain of their destination and led him towards this one, wholly unremarkable tent.

"Your new tent," she announced rather unnecessarily, giving him an oddly shy-looking smile.

Loghain inclined his head, then pulled back the door flap and entered. He stopped in mid-step once he caught a glimpse at what awaited him. In the middle, his bedroll lay with a blue Dalish lantern sitting beside it, lighting up the whole interior. His clothes and other dried out personal effects were neatly folded and laid about in the corners. The inside walls of the tent were painted like a tapestry, wrapping around all four sides to form a mosaic depicting the wheat fields of his early childhood. Glancing upwards, he noted the ceiling completed the illusion by showing a starry night sky.

Touched by her thoughtfulness, the warrior quickly went back outside to speak with the Warden. However, it seemed she wished to remain mysterious, for she had disappeared from sight. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Loghain re-entered his new home. As he neared the bedroll, his eye caught a detail he'd not noticed the first time. In the far corner of his tent, a small pile of carefully rolled parchment lay. Grabbing the lantern and setting it down next to him, the former teyrn picked up one of the scrolls and carefully unrolled it. His eyes widened in disbelief. This was his old map of Orlais... but, it also wasn't. The paper was too new and crisp, the ink too bright and perfect, the lines and pen strokes on the landmark names a bit off from how he remembered them. Yet, there was the mapmaker's mark in the corner. His eyes narrowed. There - right beside the fancy, scribbled name of the original cartographer - was the letter K, the bottom of the right leg extending out to form a small circle around the entire letter itself.

Hardly believing his eyes or his suspicions, Loghain grabbed another roll and unfurled it. Here was his map of the Free Marches, but it bore the same, slight discrepancies and the same new, mysterious circled K mark. Roll after roll, map after map, he confirmed the same. By the time he reached the bottom of the pile, Loghain noted that all but a few of the maps he'd thought lost to the rain had been replaced. _No, _he realized, _not replaced. Pains-takingly recreated by an artist's nimble hand. _Looking at all the parchment spread out around him, he shook his head in wonder. It must have taken the rest of the previous night to do this for him. No wonder they'd found her asleep in Bodahn's wagon!

Swallowing loudly, Loghain was happy no one could see how touched he was by the Warden's thoughtfulness. He carefully rolled up each map and put them back in place just as he'd found them. Then, moving the lantern once more, he approached his bedroll. He pulled the top cover back, prepared for a good, hopefully uninterrupted night's sleep, when he saw a familiar item had been hidden underneath. It was the pouch in which he'd kept his rather fanciful and most treasured map - a personal creation of his that had, he'd thought, been another victim of the storm. Loghain held his breath; dare he hope? Slowly, he reached down and gently opened the dried-out leather satchel. With great care, he pulled out the folded parchment and unfurled it. His eyes studied every inch of the map, looking for any inaccuracies or possible "corrections" to the fantasy borders he'd drawn on his original piece. Yet, just like the others, his personal map had been beautifully recreated in the exact image of the former, all the way down to the meticulously traced title: _Borders Yet To Be_. The only difference was, again, that sweet and simple little K brand hidden down in a far corner, letting him know who had done this but without intruding on the piece itself.

Loghain blinked several times, fighting back the sudden moisture in his eyes. He was now rather glad the Warden had disappeared after leading him here; the statement her works made were more powerful than anything that could have been said between them. Words would only have served to cheapen the moment or, worse, make it terribly awkward.

The former teyrn gazed about his tent again and soaked everything in. Now that he took in her deeds as a whole picture, he realized that she had replaced all his items in a precise manner - to naturally lead his eye from one thing to the next in the order she'd wanted him to discover them. From the colorful walls, to the masterwork of re-made maps in the corner, all the way down to what she'd obviously recognized as his most precious possession, cleverly hiding it in the last place he'd look before finally settling in to sleep. It was utterly brilliant in his mind, the way she'd orchestrated all this. _And she doesn't think she'll ever understand the strategic process, _Loghain thought, a smirk spreading across his features. _She's just applying it differently and doesn't even realize it._

He refolded his map, returned it to its pouch, and set it aside. Then, after crawling happily into his bedroll, Loghain glanced around one more time at the illusion of wheat fields under a star-filled sky. It was possibly the greatest kindness he had been shown by anyone since... well, since Celia had died. However, the comparison no longer disturbed him quite as it did before.

The warrior lay there for a moment, feeling a bit surprised at himself. Everything about this should have either annoyed him or set him on edge. Kallian's touch was now _everywhere_ in his space - the walls, the ceiling, his most precious personal possessions. It should have felt like a smothering intrusion into his private little world. Yet, it didn't. In all honesty, it created an oddly comforting, reassuring atmosphere. As if, no matter what happened, there was evidence that somebody had cared for him and appreciated him. It was, unfortunately, something that had rarely touched Loghain's life. And as he settled down to sleep, despite the day's troubles and heartbreaking memories, he drifted off into slumber with a smile lighting up his face for the first time in many, many years.

* * *

Author's Note: You know the drill. Reviews help me gauge how I'm doing and what you like and don't like. Drop me a line and let me know your love or hate.

The Ostagar Survivor) Written to "One" by Metallica

Loghain Standing in Front of the Funeral Pyre and Being All Awesome-ly Loghain-y) I apologize in advance, but this entire scene really was written out to the "Fenris Theme" track from _Dragon Age 2 _playing over and over. Which is kind of hilarious because I still haven't actually played a Hawke who's done the Fenris romance yet (although my current female mage playthrough is working up to it). But the theme music is damn awesome. Gotta admit that.

The Pond Scene) Funnily enough, Metallica's "The Unforgiven II" came on while I started this scene. Seemed rather fitting, so I put it on loop. "What I've felt, what I've known, turn the pages, turn the stone, behind the door, should I open it for you? What I've felt, what I've known, sick and tired I stand alone, could you be there 'cuz I'm the one who waits for you? Or are you unforgiven, too?"

Remembering the Alienage) Definitely couldn't get Pearl Jam's "Elderly Woman Behind The Counter Of A Small Town" out of my head.

Kallian's Thoughts on the Alienage, the Dalish & the Future) "Changes" by Tupac Shakur

Kallian's Story) "Rogue Heart" from the _Dragon Age 2 _soundtrack... actually, this is pretty much Kallian's theme in general, as far as I'm concerned

Loghain's End-of-Day Thoughts) "Quiet Little Voices" by We Were Promised Jetpacks


	11. A Belated Token

Author's Note: This time, many thanks go to both **Gene Dark **and** Morwen33 **for giving me some varying perspectives and absolutely wonderful, insightful comments and critiques!

As always, thank you to my wonderful reviewers:** Josie Lange, Happy Little Cupcake, Judy, Sharem, Arsinoe de Blassenville, PhantomDragoness, Alliel 23, Ereneviana, **and** plotbunnyprey. **

Additionally, I had a little commission art done for this chapter because the notion struck me and I just have zero self-control whatsoever. However, I don't want to spoil you fine folks early, so be sure to check out the link to it in my author's notes at the conclusion of this chapter. :)

* * *

The next morning, Loghain was up bright and early. That in itself was not unusual. As the son of a farmer, he'd long ago become accustomed to early rising. The habit had simply stuck ever since, considering it was essential to the lifestyles that followed - from the nomadic days of the rebellion to the rather similar situation in which he now found himself. However, that part of the reason for the extra spring in his step was due to the Warden was something the grizzled, old warrior was not yet ready to admit even to himself, despite the evidence. Despite the smile the painted wheat fields brought to his face. Despite the warmth the recreated maps grudgingly gave his heart.

Loghain rose and went about his morning routine. Every time he found himself rushing through it more quickly than usual, he chalked it up to being anxious to get back on the road. It certainly wasn't because he was in a hurry to see the Warden. Or that he was excited to collect her shortbow from Varathorn and present it to her. Not at all. Because those would be silly, sentimental reasons and there was no time for such foolishness with a Blight staring them down.

Yet, after shaving and getting dressed - casual camp gear, since there was no word of their group resuming their march until tomorrow - Loghain found himself roaming the Dalish encampment in search of his fellow Grey Warden. After coming up empty-handed, Zevran informed him that she was in a private meeting with the clan's keeper and the commander of the Dalish army.

He was rather surprised at first, but quickly chastised himself for it. After all, Kallian was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. The only other Grey Wardens in the country were himself, Riordan, who was technically of the Orlesian Order, and Maric's bastard, who had departed for parts unknown. She was the leader both by default and by proven skill and, thus, it made perfect sense for her to speak with the leaders of the Dalish without including him. However, Loghain had been both a general and a royal confidant for so long that it simply felt... strange... not to be part of a meeting. Not to mention rather disappointing that she would forgo the benefit of his knowledge and expertise. The reminder of his new rank was rather deflating.

Loghain mentally pushed that aside. Things had changed and he had a new role now. The fact that the Warden had basically treated him as an equal up to this point had simply allowed him to overlook his status change. Taking a deep breath, the former teyrn nodded to the assassin and moved on. The last thing the Warden needed was to have to deal with a bruised ego, so he pushed any such feelings aside and shifted his focus onto something else.

"Good morning, Loghain," greeted Varathorn. "You're earlier than expected."

"Yes, I know," admitted the Grey Warden. "However, I thought it might not hurt to check in and see how things were going."

"No harm at all," the master craftsman replied, finishing up some writing. "Your timing is uncanny, actually." With that, he turned and gave his apprentice a nod. The young elf went to the back of the cart and pulled out Kallian's shortbow. He handed it to Loghain, who carefully appraised the Dalish creation.

"This is a beautiful work of art," he breathed, gently brushing his fingertips along its length as he studied it. The bow was a splendid specimen: lithe, gracefully curved... almost feminine, if an inanimate object could look as such. Yet, it bore the appearance of a formidable weapon packing a powerful punch. The warrior smiled. "It looks like her."

Varathorn chuckled at that. "Glad you think so. I tried to make something befitting her."

"I'd say you succeeded," complimented Loghain. Turning the bow at various angles in the morning's light, he took in the finer details. The wood was decorated with a line of carved feathers wrapping around its full length like a vine. Foreign lettering was etched in the open spaces.

The craftsman cleared his throat to draw the warrior's attention. When Loghain glanced up, the elf handed him a rectangular quiver fully stocked with arrows. "Can't have one without the other, right?" he said.

Loghain took the leather quiver and smirked. Like the line of carved feathers on the shortbow, it was canvassed with etched feathers, presumably to match the griffon wings of the Warden's unique vallaslin. There was, however, a plain area in the very center of the quiver left free of the feathered decorations, save for two exceptions: the Grey Warden symbol and motto front and center; as well as more of the strange, etched characters placed just below a symbol he'd seen on a few of the Dalish shields around camp. Looking up, Loghain asked, "Is this Elvish?"

Varathorn nodded. "I was just writing down the translation when you arrived. Here," he explained, handing over the parchment.

Loghain looked over it once, then shook his head. "I can't possibly pronounce some of this."

"If you have a few moments," the elf said, chuckling, "I can help with that."

* * *

"It's settled, then," said Athras. "My chosen hunters march for Redcliffe at first light tomorrow."

Kallian turned to Keeper Lanaya with worry touching her face. "Are you sure the whole clan shouldn't go?" she asked. "With only a few hunters left for protection, wouldn't it be safer to hunker down with Redcliffe's townspeople?"

"Your concern is appreciated," she replied, nodding, "but we would be far more comfortable hiding in the forests we have known all our lives. And if what our scouts say is true - that the darkspawn are more concentrated in the south - I would be leading my people closer to danger rather than further from it."

The Warden sighed, disliking the decision but lacking any real argument against it. In a perfect world, she'd gather all those who could not fight and compact them into one nice, neat little area that she could then place herself in front of and keep all enemies at bay. But it wasn't a perfect world. Kallian would have to learn to accept that one of these days. Returning her gaze to Athras, she explained, "Once you've arrived in the village, ask for Ser Perth. He's leading Arl Eamon's forces."

"Aye." The master huntsman nodded. "And you said you'll be arriving in several months' time, with your mages and templars in tow?"

"That's the plan," she confirmed. "Shouldn't be too long after you see the dwarven army arrive."

"We'll travel with you a ways south, then," he concluded. "'Til your group has to break off."

"Are you sure about this, lethallan?" Lanaya asked. "Ostagar is out of the way for your journey, isn't it?"

"Not as much as you'd think," answered Kallian, shaking her head. "Just a little farther south. Frederick Long may have been addled in the head, but he raised enough suspicions that I have to check it out, especially since we're passing so close. We can't afford not to explore a potential advantage against the Archdemon."

"You are a brave soul, Warden," Athras noted in a respectful tone, "if you don't mind my sayin' so."

She smiled and a small gleam entered her eyes. "It has to be done. Might as well be another elf pulling all our asses, including the shems', out of the fire, right? Who knew Shartan was starting a trend."

All three elves chuckled for a moment before growing serious again. The Keeper was the first to speak, thanking Athras for his time and dismissing him from her tent. Then, she gave her fellow city elf a somber look. "I must apologize for the behavior of some of my clansmen last night," she started. Kallian tried to wave her off, but Lanaya fixed her with an earnest look and continued, "No, I do. So quickly they seem to forget where I originally came from, and where we would all be if you hadn't come along when you did... I mostly regret not being present to cuff the grousers myself."

"It really wasn't a big deal." Kallian shrugged. "I'll live."

"Still," pressed Lanaya, "rest assured that such an incident will _not _be repeated. I'll not have tonight's festivities ruined by a few disgruntled purists. For all that you've done for us, you are welcome among our clan anytime. You and_ all _your non-elven companions."

"I thank you for your hospitality," the Warden remarked, bowing slightly. Then, with a wry grin, she added, "And did I hear mention of a... party... tonight?"

"Do you Grey Wardens never tire?" the Keeper laughed.

"Our stamina _is_ legendary, so I'm told," Kallian answered in a mixture of mirth and sincerity.

Smiling brightly, the elven leader informed, "You're in luck, then. Dalish tradition dictates we hold a festive gathering the night before going to war. It is a way for all to enjoy the company of our warriors one last time before they head into peril. It also gives them a happy memory to march with."

"I think that's a delightful custom," she remarked with a broad grin.

"There is one more matter," Lanaya added. "The da'len you wish for us to take in."

Kallian's shoulders drooped. For a moment, she second-guessed her request. After all, she was asking them to take on another mouth to feed while, at the same time, depriving them of the majority of their hunters. Not to mention that last night's little spat at the campfire had driven home that the Gwaren girl, despite being elven, would not necessarily have an easier road here than in an Alienage. To be an elf anywhere meant to be spurned by someone, it seemed.

_Yet, _the Warden reminded herself, _Lanaya started out the same way and she has not only survived, but has become a leader among the Dalish. _Fixing her with a concerned look, Kallian responded, "I was hoping you might be willing... since she has no family and we head towards nowhere suited for a child... and her story is not so dissimilar from yours..."

The Keeper held up a hand to stop her fellow elf's rambling plea. "I'd be more than happy to bring her into our clan, lethallan. In fact, she may be a blessing to poor Sarel."

That caught the Warden's attention. Sarel, though a little better now, had been one of the more disapproving and stand-offish of the Dalish when she'd first met him. "Are you sure he would even be accepting of her?"

"He tends to lean towards the purists, I know," Lanaya explained, "but you've not been around him at his best. He lost his wife during the very first attack and, unlike some of the others who also suffered losses, Sylaise had not yet blessed their union with a child. Sarel came to us from another clan, so he has no familiar blood here."

"So, they both start off with something in common," Kallian deduced, following the Keeper's logic.

"I think the match might help them both grow as people. And," she added, "he is about due for a lorekeeper apprentice."

"And what better way to try and get the girl talking full sentences than by pairing her with the clan's storyteller, right?" the Warden interjected, eyes bright as she started to truly understand Lanaya's plan.

The Keeper smiled and nodded at the city elf. Then, she asked, "Does the child have a name? I've not heard it spoken since you arrived."

"We don't know," answered the Warden, "and she's either unable to speak it or has been so upset by her trials that she has forgotten it."

The elven leader nodded. "In that case, what name do you wish upon her?"

"Shouldn't Sarel be the one to...?"

"She is alive by your grace alone," Lanaya countered, as if that were all the reason needed.

Kallian was quiet for several moments, head hung down in contemplation. One would think it a simple matter to choose a name for a child, but the elf found herself temporarily frozen. She'd never seriously thought about starting a family before, so she didn't have a name readily in mind. And one of the things Alistair had told her about becoming a Grey Warden was that - along with the extra energy, increased appetite, darkspawn early warning alarm, and incredibly realistic nightmares - you also basically got to kiss goodbye any chance of having children. So, christening a member of the next generation had not occupied much of her mind.

Once she'd finished pondering over her response and sorting through all the feminine, elven names she knew, the Warden finally settled on one she was proud to give to a new generation of survivors. After shooting a brief smile up to the heavens, Kallian locked eyes with the Keeper and said, "Call her Adaia, after my mother."

* * *

Loghain walked out to the archery practice field. While he was eager to present the Warden with her new bow, it was not necessarily a bad thing that she was currently occupied elsewhere. Both the weapon and her fledgling skill would benefit from him giving the shortbow a good breaking in. Her detainment merely helped keep his hidden excitement in check.

He came to an abrupt stop just short of the first wooden target. Despite the early hour, he'd suspected the range might have a few occupants. What he'd not been expecting, however, was that the only person using it was one he'd much rather not associate with if he could avoid it. The red-headed bard - with whom Kallian, of course, got along smashingly - had beaten him to the field, steadily practicing with that obscenely ornate, obviously Orlesian bow of hers. Just looking at it brought an unconscious sneer to his face.

Loghain stood still for a moment, conflicting desires warring inside him. On one hand, he could simply turn around right now and leave before she spotted him, avoiding the inevitable conversational imprisonment he'd otherwise be forced to endure. On the other hand, the Warden really would have a much easier time learning on her new bow if he loosened it up for her first. _My comfort or her benefit, _he mentally grumbled. However, in light of how much the Warden had freely given him of late, he didn't consider it too difficult a choice to make.

The former general sighed heavily and gritted his teeth, bracing himself for instant annoyance. Then, delaying no longer, he quickly walked past the chatty girl, avoiding even remotely looking in her direction, and took up a position several rows down from her. He carefully laid Kallian's customized quiver on a bench beside a tall, thin bucket filled with practice arrows. Holding her shortbow in the palms of both hands, he felt the balance of its weight. _Damn near perfect, _he noted, impressed. Flipping it quickly to his left hand, the handgrip fell into his grasp almost naturally and was smooth to the touch, but not slippery or unsteady. He nodded to himself. Inspecting the string both by eyeing it and by touch, he noted it was of even thickness and fittingly taut.

Satisfied, Loghain grasped the string and gave it a few tugs. The resistance was good, but it definitely needed to be broken in and loosened up some so that Kallian would be able to pull it back more easily. Once she became more practiced, he could always show her how to tighten it back up. For right now, though, what she needed was something reliable, comfortable, and easy for her to use. That would help break her trepidation with archery.

Giving the string a few more good, long tugs, Loghain picked an arrow out of the bucket. Then, he notched it and quickly sighted a close target. The arrow took off with a flash of feathers and sank deeply into the round, wooden circle, rocking it onto its back legs for a moment before settling back down. He furrowed his brow. _That was a punch, _he observed. _Let's see what kind of reach you have, my dear..._

He picked out a target further back from the first one. The next arrow, again, imbedded itself quite nicely. Arching an eyebrow, the former teyrn aimed at one of the longbow targets. This time, the arrow fell short, although it planted itself not too far from the wooden circle. He paused in his practice and took a moment to look the bow over again. It had amazing reach for a shortbow, even a composite one. He figured the ironbark in it must factor into the extra strength and power transferred from the string to the arrow. _Now, _he pondered, tugging on the string again and smiling to himself as it gave a little more than before, _let's work on your flexibility._

"New bow?"

Loghain's smile melted into a frown and a noncommittal grunt. He had managed to successfully ignore the Orlesian's unfortunate presence until now.

"It's very nice and fancy," Leliana continued, "although you seem more of a plain and practical sort of fellow. It looks rather awkward on you."

"That's because it's not mine," he corrected, then immediately regretted it.

"Oh?" she breathed, raising her eyebrows and taking a few cautious, curious steps forward, looking like a fox that's spotted something potentially yummy hiding in the bushes. "Who's it for?"

"Someone," he said rather forcefully before notching another arrow and resuming practice, hoping the bard would take the hint that his side of the conversation was finished.

Unfortunately for him, Loghain did not have a very good track record with luck. Leliana scented something of interest and would not be pushed away so easily. She slid around behind the warrior and sidestepped her way towards the intriguingly-ornamented quiver laying on the bench. "Come, now, Loghain," she teased, "there are hardly any secrets in our small group."

He pointedly ignored her and let the arrow fly, taking some morbid satisfaction in visualizing the bard's head in place of the red bullseye.

Undeterred, Leliana bent down and plucked up the leather case. She examined its markings, running nimble fingers over the etched feathers that dominated the decorations. Then, she narrowed her gaze down to the smooth patch in the middle, adorned with a symbol that looked like a mask of leaves. Underneath that was an inscription in what appeared to be Dalish, followed by a rampant griffon and a phrase carved in Fereldan. She read aloud, "In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice." The bard gazed back up at Loghain, looking smug. "This is the Grey Wardens' motto," she recalled with a hint of triumphant discovery in her voice.

He grunted, "What of it?"

"Well, if this is meant for a Grey Warden and it isn't yours..." Leliana drew out, "then that greatly reduces our remaining possibilities, now, doesn't it?"

"Aren't you a clever girl," Loghain snidely remarked.

Returning the quiver to its original resting spot, she placed her hands on her hips and parried, "There's no need to get all grumpy." With a sly smile, she added, "It's a very thoughtful gift, Loghain."

The former teyrn bristled. "It's _not _a gift," he barked.

The bard quirked an eyebrow up and appeared thoroughly unconvinced. "You know, immediately getting defensive serves only as confirmation that it _is _a gift."

"No, it's not," he countered. "This is something practical that the Warden would benefit from owning. I don't know about the rest of you, but I think she'd be better picking dinner off from afar rather than blindly jumping daggers-first onto whatever game the dog flushes out of the bushes. Wouldn't you agree?" He stared down at the red-head with narrowed eyes, daring her to argue against his logic.

Leliana shrugged. "Yes, it's something highly useful and also beautiful. Where I come from, we call that a gift."

Loghain's expression immediately soured. He turned back to the practice target, trying again to end the unwanted conversation.

"If you want my opinion - which I know you don't, so that's why I'm giving it anyway..." She chuckled, "I think Kal will love it. _Especially_ since it's coming from _you_."

As much as he wanted to ignore her, that last comment caught the former general's attention. Loghain lowered the bow and shot the bard a sidelong glance. "Is that so?" he asked, voice low. When she smiled coyly and nodded, he turned to face her fully. "Why?" he demanded.

Leliana giggled like a small child with a prized secret. "That's for me to know and you to find out..."

"But you just said there are no secrets in our group," he argued, pointing a finger in her face.

She giggled again and pushed the accusing digit aside playfully. "No, I said there were _hardly_ any secrets. The girls are allowed to have them. The boys aren't."

"What are you, five years old?" he snarled in exasperation. Shaking his head, Loghain went back to breaking in Kallian's bow.

After several moments of pointed silence, Leliana ventured, "So, you never did answer my question from yesterday regarding whether or not you have great stories about King Maric."

"Not this again..."

* * *

Kallian slowly meandered in the direction of her tent, mentally plotting out the remaining course of her day. If they were to get their first army moving tomorrow morning, there was much to be done. _Let's see, _she pondered, _I need to alert my crew so they can pack up as much as possible tonight. I've got to go talk to Bodahn and make sure we're almost through re-stocking. I should probably meet with Athras again to make sure he has everything he needs, see if the few aravels they're bringing will be enough for the army or if Bodahn needs to find more room in his cart for some of their supplies..._

Throughout the Warden's thought process, she kept one hand in her front pants pocket, occasionally fiddling with a certain someone's signet ring. She'd awakened earlier than usual - actually beating Loghain for a change, who was almost always the first to rise - and couldn't contain her excitement any longer. The elf had made a beeline over to Varathorn's crafting stall, not surprised in the least to see him up and already working at such an hour. When he'd seen her coming, he'd set aside someone's quiver upon which he was engraving a few finishing touches and, as she'd suspected, already had the ring completed. It was absolutely perfect, and Kallian had made sure to tell him so. Multiple times. He'd finally shooed her away in a kindly manner and the Warden was left wondering what to do next. She'd had an overwhelming desire simply to crash into Loghain's tent and give it to him straight away, but fought the urge down. _Let him sleep in if he can for once, _she'd decided, and then sought out Lanaya and Athras to get a head start on their plans.

Knowing Loghain was surely up by now, Kallian found herself procrastinating. It would make sense to seek him out before the day inevitably pulled her from one direction to the next with campaign preparations. Yet, with the ring sitting almost heavily in her pocket, she found herself walking slowly in no real direction. To be perfectly honest, she felt a bit shy and... well, nervous. Why that was, she couldn't figure. They were just friends, after all. The ring was simply a replacement for the Grey Warden pendant he should have received after his Joining. It was all perfectly logical and professional.

Loghain's raised voice suddenly shook the elf free of her wandering thoughts. "Warden!" he called. "I've something to show you." At her inquisitive look, he added, "You'll want your gloves for this."

The elf arched an eyebrow. "O-o-oka-a-a-a-ay..." she drew out, her voice a mixture of curiosity and vague wariness. However, she quickly sprinted to her tent and retrieved her drakeskin gloves. After hurriedly returning to the archery field, she gave him a lop-sided grin and breathily greeted, "Hey, rookie!"

"Good morning," he responded simply and quietly, giving her a small smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Kallian found the look rather endearing.

"Sleep well, I take it?" she said in a slightly teasing voice, fishing for a response to her gifts from the night before.

His smiled broadened and a certain spark that she'd never seen before entered those old blue eyes. "Better than I have in ages." With emphasis, he added, "_Thank you_. For everything."

"My pleasure," she crooned, smiling deeply and feeling a bit flustered by his sweet response. Then, suddenly becoming more aware of herself, she mentally reeled. _Maker's breath, was that... did I just __**flirt **__with Loghain? _There was a sort of delicious tension in the air that she'd never felt before and it was rather hard to resist. However, it was also rather awkward and, considering it had taken her until _just now _to notice Leliana hovering oh-so-innocently in the background, the Warden decided it was time to ease the moment with bad puns and a shift in focus. Putting on her best smarmy expression, she jested, "So, is that a new bow in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Rather than either chuckle or put on a chagrined face, as Kallian was most accustomed to Loghain doing in reaction to her often odd humor, he instead appeared suddenly uncomfortable and self-conscious, which threw her off-guard. He gazed down at the bow for a moment and took a deep breath. Then, he looked back up and held the bow out towards the elf, resting it across his palms in presentation. "It _is_ a new bow," he answered, his tone unusually soft. "Your new bow. I was just warming it up for you."

Kallian felt at a loss for words and settled for slack-jawed wonder. Hesitantly, she reached out and gingerly lifted the shortbow. She was no expert on that type of weaponry herself, but it appeared to be quite sophisticated and lovingly crafted. As her gaze roamed over its supple body, her artist's eyes took in the very fine details: carvings formed a twisted vine of feathers that wrapped around the shaft while the interspersed gaps were filled with etchings she surmised belonged to the ancient tongue of the Dalish. Running her fingertips along the wood, she recognized the feel of ironbark and quickly connected the dots - Varathorn had made it.

From her peripheral vision, the Warden saw Loghain continually shift his weight from one leg to the other, arms tucked behind his back. _Is he... actually nervous? _she wondered, and then it dawned on her: he was anticipating her verdict on a bow he'd _commissioned _for her.

For a time, the elf did not know how to react. So often she had been the giver of gifts, but almost never the recipient of one. Her parents had given her presents, of course, and sometimes she received something from Soris or Shianni as tokens of family. But all of that was just that - family. This was... something entirely different altogether. The only thing she'd received outside of family was a rose from Alistair, and that was a painful memory she didn't wish to dwell upon. Suffice it to say, it had been a sweet and appreciated gesture, but one that had held far more meaning for him than for her. Which made this moment even odder, since she was not an adept archer and Loghain knew this, and yet he'd given her a custom bow. Which meant this should have been an item holding more meaning to him than to her, but for some reason Kallian found herself surprisingly excited by it and deeply touched. The gesture was equally practical as it was thoughtful - so very... Loghain.

When she finally tore her eyes off the bow, Loghain was watching her warily. She could imagine him second-guessing himself, having given her something that she very well could have resented. Feeling a bloom swell within her, Kallian stepped forward and ended the warrior's painful wait with a long, tight hug. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she whispered into his ear, "Thank you, Loghain. This is a beautiful, thoughtful gift."

He tensed up under her embrace, as if either surprised by her response or unsure how to respond himself. Then, he lightly patted her back before hesitantly leaving his hand to rest there for a moment. The elf released him from the awkward hold but remained close, looking up into his eyes expectantly; after all, she'd just thanked him, so that warranted some type of response, right?

He stared back at her, but with none of the harsh intensity she was used to. Instead, there was a softness in his eyes, a warmth that seemed so foreign from the usual icy, steely gaze. Kallian suddenly thought of them as rather beautiful, a realization that gave her nervous goosebumps. She wanted to look away, feeling uncomfortable with whatever shift had obviously occurred in their relationship, but found herself transfixed. She wondered if he felt the same, and then wondered why she'd thought that and why it seemed so important to her. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, the Warden chuckled quietly and gave a cockeyed grin.

Loghain was the first to break their shared reverie, clearing his throat and abruptly looking away. As if just remembering something important, he turned aside and bent towards a nearby bench. Kallian temporarily caught Leliana's expression from a short distance away. The bard had a huge, Cheshire-cat smile planted across her face. The elf glared half-hearted daggers before the warrior blocked her view again. Appearing encouraged by her positive reaction to the bow, Loghain gave a small smile and handed her an equally-detailed leather quiver. "Matching set," he explained.

Holding her new bow in one hand, Kallian took the quiver and studied it. The Grey Wardens' rampant griffon practically jumped off the surface at her, so prominently was it displayed front and center. She also noted that much of the leather was carved with feathers, she assumed to keep in theme with the griffon. Beneath the creature were more etchings that, sadly, she couldn't read.

And then her studious eyes fell onto a Dalish symbol she recognized - eyes surrounded by a mask of leaves. Kallian was no expert on the old elven pantheon of gods and goddesses, but she knew this was the mark of Mythal the Protector. She had found the symbol so fascinating that she'd asked about it back when she'd first met the Dalish. Compared to the other symbols - which, for the most part, did not appear to form anything coherent - Mythal's leafy eyes were an arresting contrast. Underneath, little sticks and loops merged together in a style similar to that on the bow... more Elvish, she guessed.

"There's one more thing here for you," ventured Loghain.

"Goodness, you've outdone yourself!" the elf exclaimed, struggling to shift the bow and quiver around so she could free up a hand. Once settled, she looked back up in time to see the former teyrn pull out a scrap of parchment and hold it out towards her. Though Kallian hid it outwardly, inside she began to panic. Surely he'd expect her to read it here and now, and she'd be forced to finally confess her embarrassing inadequacy. "Oh," she said, voice slightly raised, "is that a note?" The Warden's brain scrambled to think of some way to stall the inevitable moment.

Just then, Leliana swooped in for the rescue. In one, smooth motion, the red-head rushed up from behind Loghain, quickly snatched the paper out of his grip, and retreated to stand beside Kallian. "Ooooh, what's this? A love letter, perhaps?" she asked, perfectly acting the part of 'nosy friend' while she quickly read over the sheet. Then, feigning disappointment, she complained, "Most of this is Elvish gibberish. How boring."

Utterly seething, Loghain seized the paper back. "I believe you were about to leave, yes?" he growled, eyes threatening severe repercussions if the bard didn't obey.

Screwing her face up in disgust, Leliana sarcastically spat, "Very subtle, Loghain." She quickly turned her back on him, caught Kallian's eyes, gave her a quick wink, and sauntered off towards the main encampment. The elf stared after her friend for several moments, filled with gratitude. The bard had managed not only to give her enough information about what the note said so that she could easily play it off, but did so without arousing the former general's suspicions. Well, other than further convincing him that he disliked the Orlesian-accented archer, but that was no real cause for concern, considering the two got along like cats and dogs anyway.

Kallian turned back around, shot her fellow Grey Warden a sheepish smile, and shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry about that. You know how Leliana can be sometimes."

"Bah!" he spat and waved a hand in dismissal. "Hardly your fault, although I still question her recruitment." Clearing his throat, he once more held the sheet out to her. "I believe we left off right about here."

Chuckling, the Warden took the parchment and gave the appearance of carefully looking it over. Then, shaking her head slightly, she said, "While I appreciate the gesture, I'm afraid I can't make heads or tails of Elvish." She handed the paper back to him. "That's just one of the many parts of our ancestry that city elves have lost."

Loghain looked down between his feet. For a moment, Kallian worried she had inadvertently said or done something to bother him. However, she caught a glance at his expression and saw that he was merely thinking. After a short while, he raised his head and gestured towards the short, backless bench. "Have a seat and I'll translate it for you."

The elf gaped at him in open surprise as she sat down. "You... know Elvish?"

"Not really, but Varathorn went over a few phrases with me," he admitted, sitting next to her. "Let's see the bow again first."

Setting the quiver gently on the ground by her feet, Kallian laid the bow across their laps. Despite it being a shortbow, it reached across them both due to the bench's stubby length. Overall, the Warden found the whole situation rather exciting. During all their shared watches and downtime at camp, they'd been together quite often, but never so physically close. Now, they'd just hugged for the first time and were practically flush against each other while sitting on what could only be described as a glorified footstool.

"I'll probably find some way to bollocks this up," his voice broke though her thoughts once again, "but I'll try not to butcher it too badly." Clearing his throat, Loghain pointed to the first line of rolling text along the top half of the bow. He lightly ran a fingertip over it, then furrowed his brow and double-checked Varathorn's writing. "All right," he said, squinting a little, "this reads: 'Vir Assan'. It means that, like the arrow, one must fly straight and never waver." Glancing back at the bow, he traced the words wrapping around the bottom half and, after consulting the sheet again, explained, "This one is 'Vir Bor'Assan'. It says that one should be like the bow, bending but never breaking."

Kallian alternated between gazing at Loghain's face and glancing at his pointing finger. She was surprised, still, that he had taken such steps to give her something filled with so much thought and care. She was also rather proud that he was embracing elven culture to some degree, especially after what had happened with... but no, she refused to think about him and the Alienage anymore. She dealt with it better by not dealing with it at all, in her opinion.

Shifting her focus, she went back to reveling in the fact that he was teaching her some of the language of her own ancestors. It was so incredible, such a profound and endearing moment that she almost wanted to do something crazy, like... like... pinch his cheeks! Which somehow, oddly enough, led her mind back to those ridiculously tight pants he'd been forced into yesterday. And then she thought about another pair of cheeks that might be fun to pinch and immediately felt herself blushing at the naughty, unbidden thought. _Where did __**that **__come from? _she wondered. _Simmer down, now. _

Making an effort to concentrate on the etched phrases he pointed out, she noticed a set he hadn't shown her yet. She gestured to a line of text that seemed to split itself just above and below the handgrip in the middle of the bow. "What about this one?" she asked.

"Uh, that one..." Loghain trailed off and consulted the sheet again. "That one is 'Vir Adahlen' and is the Way of the Forest, which says that together we are stronger than the one."

"That's a rather... sweet... sentiment."

"It's not sweetness," the former teyrn grunted. "It's survival. Safety in numbers. A wheat field, composed of many individual stalks, can weather a storm much better than any one stalk can on its own. It's the same with an army, a city... there're many other examples. But those three tenets are, so Varathorn said, the wisdom of... oh, what was the name again?" He squinted at the parchment and sounded out, "An-dru-il, Goddess of the Hunt." At the Warden's snicker, he asked grumpily, "What? Did I mispronounce it?"

"No, nothing," she responded quickly. "You're fine." She hadn't meant to audibly laugh, but watching him study that sheet and try so hard to correctly pronounce everything had struck her as rather humorous. Not to mention rather... adorable, as frightening as it was to label Loghain with a word like that. _He'd be either horrified or mortified, _she inwardly giggled. _Or possibly both._

"All right, then," he said, moving on. "Now, let's see that quiver."

Carefully leaning the bow against the bench, Kallian pulled the quiver up and onto her lap. It, unlike the shortbow, was short enough to fit just on her lap. It probably would have been proper simply to hand it over to him, but tempting fate seemed much more agreeable at the moment.

Loghain looked back and forth between her face and the quiver in her lap with an almost questioning expression, but apparently decided not to voice whatever thoughts he had. Instead, he plunged forward and pointed out the obvious first. "Naturally, you recognize the griffon."

"Of course."

"And just below it, logically, is the order's motto."

Once again, Kallian consciously masked any outward reaction, but inside she excitedly cheered. She knew the Grey Wardens' motto by heart and, now that she had something she knew was a written version of those three sentences, she had her first real key to reading. Granted, Leliana had kindly showed her a few things - mostly how to recognize place names on maps and signposts - but for the most part, the road and the Blight kept them both rather busy.

She stared at the line of scribbles - probably overly long, but she didn't care because here was a chance at breakthrough - and tried to reconcile the symbols she saw with the audible words she knew.

_Okay, those first two letters, _she thought to herself, _are the same following each dot. Those dots must separate the sentences. And each sentence starts with the word 'in'. So, those two letters right there form the word 'in'. In... in... in... _she repeated, trying to memorize the first word of the first full sentence she'd ever read in her life, all while trying not to visibly show her excitement.

"Warden?" Loghain asked, sounding a bit concerned.

The elf instantly resurfaced from her study. "Oh, sorry," she apologized sheepishly, "got lost in an old memory."

Appearing to take her at her word, the warrior continued with his translations. Pointing just below the mask of leaves, being careful not to accidentally brush against her thigh in the process, he said, "That's the last bit of Elvish. It reads: 'From one guardian to another, may you always feel Mythal the Protector's touch.'"

"Awww," Kallian remarked. "What a nice blend of Dalish and Grey Warden sentiments." After a moment's pause, she turned towards him and asked, "So, does my shortbow have a name?"

Loghain suddenly looked chagrined. Raising both eyebrows, he turned to her and admitted, "You know, I hadn't thought of that and Varathorn didn't mention giving it one himself. But you're right, every good weapon should have a name."

Pondering, the elf asked, "What was that last line of Elvish again?"

"'From one guardian to another,'" he repeated, eyeballing Varathorn's translation again, "'may you always feel Mythal the Protector's touch.'"

"Hmmmm," the Warden contemplated. "The Protector's Touch. I think I like that!"

* * *

_That went rather well, _Loghain thought, wholly pleased with himself. As marvelous as Kallian's bow had been, both in appearance and performance, a part of him had remained wary about her reaction. Given how jaded she felt towards archery and her self-described "abysmal" lack of talent, he'd hoped she wouldn't outright hate it or, worse, become resentful towards him for the rather bold gesture.

And it _was_ a bold gesture on his part, whether or not the Warden fully realized it. Loghain had poured some of himself into the act: his belief in her ability to overcome her confidence issue as well as his belief in his own ability to help her reach her full potential. He had done so much this past year to hinder all of her efforts and ended up hurting much of Ferelden in the process; he owed it to both to try and make things easier now, to give all the aid he could.

Loghain did not enjoy admitting his faults, but when he blundered, he did at least _try _to set out and make things right again. As minor and nonsensical a comparison as it was, the first thought that popped into his head was the time he'd accidentally killed one of Celia's rose bushes and brought her a new one. Scratched himself right up in the process, too, but she'd been well worth it. Loghain chuckled quietly at the memory, then immediately sobered up as he realized he'd just compared her and the Warden _again_.

He knew it was very unlikely that the elf had picked up on any of his unspoken messages. However, some part of him hoped she might understand the deeper meaning behind the bow, even if it was just an underlying suspicion or question. It was certainly not something he felt comfortable just coming out and telling her. Maric had always been the one wearing his heart on his sleeve and waxing poetic on everything. Unceasingly, it had seemed at times.

Loghain, on the other hand, had never been a particularly verbose man, especially when it came to either his feelings or his own shortcomings. More than one person had accused him of being entirely incapable of stringing more than three or four sentences together at a time. And he almost never let anyone into his own carefully guarded thoughts, his own little inner world. After more than four decades of life, this old dog was set in his ways. He was a very private man, and that wasn't about to change now.

As his mind churned, Loghain continued to watch Kallian from the corner of his eye. She sat there silently, appearing lost in her own thoughts while she repeatedly traced the Grey Wardens' symbol and motto with her fingertips. After some time of shared silence, the former teyrn opened his mouth to suggest a first archery lesson when the elf beat him to speech.

"Loghain?"

"Yes, Warden?"

"There's one more thing I've been meaning to give you..."

"Maker's breath, woman!" he remarked, starting to wonder if she was determined to keep him forever in her debt. "Have you not already given far more than I deserve? My _life_ was an unexpected mercy. What more could you possibly suggest?"

"Something that's been owed to you since your Joining," she answered cryptically, sliding her right hand into her front pants pocket and leaving it there. She took a deep breath, as if winding up for a speech. "As you well know," she began, "you joined our humble little group under... very unusual circumstances. There were some who questioned my judgement..."

"Can't imagine who _that_ might have been," he sarcastically interjected.

"To be fair," Kallian continued, "I definitely questioned myself much worse." The elf turned towards him and placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "But I'm more confident than ever. The Grey Wardens have gained a new brother who has proven to be tough and intelligent and trustworthy. We are stronger for having you with us and I certainly know that I feel safe with you by my side. I'm sure the doubters will come around in time.

"Now," she continued, pulling her hand back out of her pocket but keeping it a closed fist, "I neglected to treat you fairly upon your Joining-"

"-Warden," Loghain tried to interrupt, but was quickly cut off.

"-no excuses," she continued. "You were not treated as a new Grey Warden _should _have been treated. With... my former comrade... leaving and all the other Fereldan Grey Wardens dead, that made me Commander. Regardless of the situation and our... past differences... I should have _acted_ like one. But I didn't."

Pausing, Kallian hesitantly grabbed Loghain's right hand and pulled it towards her. She placed her closed fist on his palm and held it there. "Every new Grey Warden who survives the Joining is given a pendant, containing a small amount of darkspawn blood, as a token. A reminder of their duty and of those who have passed before them in the line of said duty."

Loghain attempted to speak again, to remind her that he was more than passingly familiar with duty and the sacrifices it demanded, but she shut him down again.

"Now," Kallian said rather forcefully to stop any objections, "you didn't really strike me as the pendant-wearing sort. So, I had something a little different made, but with the same message. And, because we _do_ have some special circumstances here, I had a little extra added to it."

With that, the elf opened her fist. Loghain felt something relatively small drop into his palm. After she pulled her hand back, he looked down and saw that it was a signet ring. The warrior carefully picked it up with his left hand and studied it.

For such a little object, much detail had been crafted into it. Upon the very top was the Grey Warden griffon, surrounded by a varnished coat of brackish, black-red substance that could only be the bit of darkspawn blood the Warden had mentioned. On either side of the raised base, a rampant Mabari warhound - Ferelden's national symbol - stood at attention. It made sense and the meaning was clear: you are a Grey Warden first and foremost, but you are also still a Fereldan.

"I hope you don't mind," she interrupted, pointing towards the inner band, "but I did take the liberty of naming it."

He turned the ring slightly so that he could see the inside of it. Across the inside, underneath where the griffon and twin Mabaris stood, was one simple word inscribed in bold letters: _Redemption_. At first, the former teyrn wasn't quite sure if the name was inspirational or offensive. It wasn't exactly a topic they had discussed at any great length. However, there was one conversation he suddenly recalled...

_"What would you have done, if you'd won?" the Warden asked, eyes wide and curious in the light of the campfire._

_ He paused and considered. "I suppose that depends on how much of the kingdom was left by then," he finally replied dryly. "Once the border was secure, the army would have regrouped to push back the darkspawn in the south."_

_ "But the border was in no danger."_

_ "That's easy to say now," he snapped. "When chevaliers were massing on our doorstep, things were a little less clear."_

_ Frowning, she continued, "But how could you afford to divide our forces like that?"_

_ "We couldn't," he scoffed, growing weary of her needling. "Epecially after Ostagar. It wan't an ideal plan, but it seemed necessary at the time." He sighed. "And now Ferelden's southern cities are paying for my miscalculation."_

_ Neither Grey Warden said anything for several long moments. Then, unexpectedly, the elf shot him an encouraging smile and said, "Well, you're making up for that now. That's gotta count for something, right?"_

_ "Ask me again after we've won." _

"Loghain," said the Warden, her tone as soft as a gentle caress and her eyes as genuine as they always were, "I'm glad you're here."

He felt his chest unexpectedly tighten and, for a moment, the former general was concerned that he might not be able to breathe again. His eyes suddenly felt moist for the second time in as many days - how vexing - and he blinked a few times to clear them, looking down at his feet and hoping the Warden had not spotted his reaction.

Closing his hand tightly around the ring, he sighed deeply, knowing what he felt he needed to do. The impulse took his mind back to a horse stable in Gwaren, confronted by Maric in the early morning hours of his attempted leavetaking. With stiff, tight movements, Loghain slid off the bench and awkwardly bent down on one knee in front of the elf. It took everything he had not to burst out laughing at the shocked and rather horrified expression she wore, again reminding him of that memory from so long ago.

"Your trust has been an unexpected offering, Warden, given our past... differences," he said, inwardly cringing at the amount of emotion his hoarse tone betrayed, "as is your friendship. But I thank you for them, all the same. You have given me a second chance, one that I daresay most others would not have felt merciful enough to allow. I have at least some chance now of putting right some of the things I have done..."

Loghain met Kallian's eyes earnestly then, looking as if he wanted to say more on that matter, but instead left it hanging for the time being. "All of this can rightly be called my fault. Whether or not you can do better remains to be seen. But if you can make this the end, Warden, I will follow you into the Fade itself, if asked. I swear it."

He stared back at the ground again, hoping his face didn't look half as flustered as he felt. It was rather irritating, sometimes, how well the elf could burrow under his skin. Even more irritating was the fact that he found himself not necessarily abhorring it - not nearly as much as he should, at any rate. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, feeling hopelessly conflicted.

Moments later, nimble fingers gently grasped his chin and tilted his head back. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were Kallian's warm, brown ones gazing down at him, almost shimmering in the morning light. The sight was both intoxicating and intimidating, for the look she gave him was changed somehow, as if she were offering an invitation. The hand cradling his chin lightly brushed a questioning thumb against his cheek, inducing an involuntary shiver.

Immediately, Loghain inwardly panicked, alarms going off everywhere inside his head. This was wrong. This was a bad idea; no, scratch that, this was a _terrible_ idea. On several levels. For the _both_ of them. He had to stop it now, early, nip it in the bud.

As the elf slowly lowered her face towards his, Loghain quickly stood back up and ran a nervous hand through his hair. Kallian pulled backwards just in time, swiftly avoiding getting smacked in the face by his sudden movement. Both Grey Wardens immediately averted their eyes and several moments of terribly awkward silence passed.

"So, uh," the elf broke the silence first, "why don't you see if that ring even fits you and then how about you help me get used to this beautiful new bow?" She shot him a rather apologetic, shy grin and, while a hint of disappointment hung in her eyes, the Warden otherwise appeared unflustered and professional.

"An excellent idea," he agreed, feeling a bit short of breath. Archery was comfortable territory. It was clinical. It was something he'd worked with his Night Elves on for many years. It was something he felt confident enough to perform without any extra... tension... that was regrettably developing between them.

Closing his eyes and clearing his mind, Loghain slipped the signet ring onto his left middle finger. A sudden, instant rush of strength and vigor flooded his body. He opened his eyes again, eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then, the sensation faded down to an undercurrent of energy buzzing inside, which eventually settled down enough to no longer notice. Loghain shot the Warden a pointed look. "Enchanted, obviously."

"Only the best for my men," she responded, giving him a little mocking bow.

Loghain chuckled, his nerves steadying as they eased back into their comfortable, familiar sarcastic retorts. "You know, I'm generally not fond of enchanted items," he said, "but I suppose this one isn't_ too _offensive."

"Well, damn." The elf snapped her fingers and shook her head in a disappointed manner. "And here I was half-hoping you'd scream like a girl when you put it on, then bean it off my forehead in disgust." She shot him one of her trademark, cheeky grins.

The warrior snorted and furrowed his brow, turning serious. "Let me see your bow. Watch how I shoot."

Kallian handed over The Protector's Touch. Loghain took position, drew an arrow from the bucket, slowly and methodically took aim, drew back the string, and released the projectile. It flew straight and true, sinking into the center of the wooden target.

"Now," he announced, motioning the elf up, "let me see how you shoot. And don't forget your gloves... you're not nearly calloused enough yet to go without."

Blushing slightly and looking incredibly self-conscious, the Warden pulled on her drakeskin gloves and took hold of the bow as he handed it to her. She stood with her feet not quite properly apart or angled, but Loghain let it go for now, more interested in seeing the complete package so he could better deduce her points of improvement. She held the bow up with her left hand, which was all well and good, although trembling a bit. She notched the arrow and drew back, though not nearly far enough. Then, with very little faith or confidence, she suddenly let go of the string and pulled her hand back out of the way as if a snake had struck at her. The arrow quite literally flopped through the air before it gave up and futilely struck the ground several feet short of the intended target.

The elf turned towards him and gave a look that lamented, 'See? Completely useless.' Loghain shot her an encouraging smile and said, "The basic mechanics are there, Warden. You just need to adjust your form."

He walked up to her and looked over her stance again. "Angle yourself more," he ordered. "Imagine your feet stuck behind an imaginary line here." He traced an invisible, perpendicular line in front of her. "Your dominant hand is your right, correct?"

"Yes," she answered, nodding.

"Okay, then you want your left foot forward touching that line in your mind, facing your target," he explained, "and your right foot behind it and angled slightly outward."

Kallian tried to move as he directed, but was still a little off. Grunting in frustration, Loghain crouched down behind her, grabbed her left calf, and physically coaxed her leg into proper position. "Loosen up, would you?" he growled. "Being stiff as a board won't help your aim."

"Sorry," she said, although she didn't sound very apologetic. "I was suddenly distracted by the fact that you're in perfect ass-kissing position."

The former teyrn went stark still. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Opened it. Closed it.

Glancing out the corner of her eye at him, the Warden wickedly chuckled, "I suppose asking for a little spanking while you're down there is out of the question, then?"

Loghain glared daggers at her, but there wasn't much he could do to stop the red from creeping into his face. Looking back down, he silently repeated the process on her right leg, albeit a little more forcefully. He started to suspect the Warden was baiting him on purpose, as revenge for his denying her attempted kiss. He stood up again and retreated a few steps. "All right," he continued, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "the next step is to breathe deeply and focus. _Concentrate_."

Kallian suppressed any further smart-aleck remarks and followed his advice. Holding the position he'd set her in, she focused on breathing and visibly relaxed. After a few moments, the Warden looked calmly over at him, awaiting the next step.

"Now, choose your target wisely. I'd suggest the closest one for now until you become more comfortable."

"Okay," she breathed. The elf grabbed an arrow, notched it, brought the bow up, and picked out her target.

The warrior loudly cleared his throat. "No, Warden," he corrected. "You're putting the cart before the oxen. Eye your target carefully, _then _start to aim."

"All right," she answered, sounding as if she wasn't entirely sure she understood the difference between what she'd done and what he'd told her. However, he saw that she at least subconsciously understood it as she studied the wooden circle and her distance from it, then kept her eyes glued on her goal as she raised the shortbow once more.

"Now, hold," he ordered. The elf froze. Loghain closed the gap between them again and circled around her once. "Arrow placement looks very good," he casually commented. "Centered perfectly. Feathers in proper position." After a moment, he continued, "This is where bows differ. On the longbow, you were taught to draw first, then sight down the arrow."

"Yes," she confirmed.

He nodded. "Your shortbow is a different animal. It requires less strength to pull, but sacrifices comfortable aim. Meaning you need to aim as well as you can first, then draw back in one precise, fluid motion. Once you've got the right spot memorized, you'll find it much easier and faster to fire."

"That sounds better." Kallian held the bow and arrow out in front of her and sighted down the shaft. Then, she drew the string back.

"Hold," Loghain ordered again. He came up behind the Warden and carefully surveyed her form. Some parts were right, others were dreadfully off. _It would be easier for her to remember if she felt a proper release,_ he thought.

Then, all business, he closed the gap between them and stood flush against her, as if they were just one archer. He felt more than heard her sudden intake of breath, but dutifully ignored it. Reaching out, he covered her left hand with his and guided the bow up a little, then slightly left of the goal. Heads nearly side-by-side, he quietly advised, "If there is no wind, always aim a little high and a little left. Trust me, an arrow does not fire straight on like you'd think."

Next, he turned his head and glanced at her right arm. Far too elevated. He gently placed his right hand on her elbow and lowered it back down so her arm was more level. Looking back towards the wooden circle in the distance, his head now brushing alongside hers as he sighted, he fervently tried to ignore how much heat radiated from her body and how she'd begun to tremble slightly against him. He quickly cleared his throat. "Now, the most important part," he continued, "picture hitting your target with the perfect strike. Mentally see the shot you're about to fire." Loghain gave her a moment to do so, then asked, "Ready?"

"I think so," she said, voice light as a sigh.

"Good," he breathed, mouth next to her ear. "Remember this position. This is where you want to be every time you fire. Memorize exactly how it feels."

"I... I don't think I could ever forget how this feels right now," she whispered.

Loghain struggled to swallow around the sudden, nervous lump in his throat. Focusing on the task at hand - which certainly was _not_ about noticing just how lean-muscled the elf pressing against his chest felt - the former general gave his final instruction. "Release, but do not suddenly let go. Instead, simply relax your fingers. Let the tension slowly slide from your grip."

Kallian did so. They both watched fixedly as the arrow arced gracefully through the air and pierced the wooden target slightly inside the bullseye. Loghain smiled broadly, turning his head back towards the Warden. They both locked eyes again, mutual excitement permeating the air from their success. The elf's face was flushed and glowing, her grin a mile wide.

Just as he began to realize how surprisingly pleasant and _right_ it felt with her cradled in his arms, Loghain quickly caught hold of himself and broke their unusual embrace. As if on cue, a few Dalish approached the archery field as the rest of the camp's inhabitants finally began to stir. They nodded a silent greeting to the pair.

"Well," concluded Loghain, swallowing a bit louder than intended, "I believe that's enough practice for one day."

* * *

Author's Note: Reviews are a gift from the Maker. Just sayin'.

Dalish language & culture: _Da'len_ is Dalish for "little child"; Shartan was the Dalish leader who fought alongside Andraste for freedom from the Tevinter magisters; Sylaise (the Hearthkeeper) is the Dalish goddess of the home and family

Some interesting song inspirations this time...

Kallian Procrastinates) "Hand In My Pocket" by Alanis Morissette

Presenting The Protector's Touch) The instrumental "La Serenissima" by Loreena McKennitt

The Gift-Giving & Archery Scene had several... Kallian's thoughts are best summed up with "Drumming Song" by Florence + the Machine and "The Only Exception" by Paramore; honorable mentions include "Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop" by Landon Pigg (okay, so it's not a coffee shop, but I just can't get past the appropriately tentative "I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you...") and, as far as instrumentals go, "Evenstar" from the _Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers _soundtrack BECAUSE I'M SUCH A DORKY, ROMANTIC SAP. Also, awesomely coincidental that it's the love theme of another human/elf couple. ;) Loghain's thoughts are probably best relayed with "It's Bad For Me" by Rosemary Clooney.

And as promised, here is the scoop on the artwork for this chapter. The artist is the great and powerful YamiSnuffles who, to me, is a master at creating very upbeat and whimsical drawings. While our two main characters are actually NOT wearing their normal armor in this particular scene of the chapter, I honestly couldn't say no to the Epic Armor of Awesomeness that is the Armor of River Dane, so I had her throw them both in their regular armor. Linky-link to the shinies: Hmmm, since this site does not like links, use this (remove the spaces): yamisnuffles. deviantart .com / gallery / 29652009# / d46b8pf


	12. The Dalish March to War

Author's Note: As my long-time readers already know because of a previous Chapter 12 "update", this fanfic was put on hiatus for quite some time. I unexpectedly lost my dear mother in January and needed to pull back from everything to try and collect myself. Of all the things to finally come back to me in this strange world of "new normal", it was my writing. During that time, I received many messages of sympathy and encouragement from you all, and for that, I thank you deeply. It kept me from scrapping work on this story entirely, and I am grateful for that support because I am happy to be back and writing again now. And an extra super thanks to my beta, Gene Dark, who kept me afloat with "wellness check" emails throughout my hibernation and is back to being my beta once again. :)

* * *

As Kallian had predicted, travel preparations absorbed most of her day. It would be quite some time before they'd come across the next major settlement: Drakesport, a large village perched along the River Drakon - and one still relatively untouched by the Blight, according to a few Dalish tradesmen who bartered with traveling merchants. Otherwise, most of the countryside consisted of forest to the east and farmland to the west. That meant she had to ensure her groups' supplies could last until that juncture. After Drakesport, it was anyone's guess when they'd run across unmolested civilization between there and Ostagar, if at all, given the unknown of just where the darkspawn horde hovered in the southernmost reaches of Ferelden.

The Warden was rather thankful for the distraction. Working to help her crew become road-worthy once more kept her from dwelling overly long on her situation with Loghain. _No, _she mentally corrected, _not a situation at all. I won't let it become one. _However, it was hard not to occasionally slip into the trap of analyzing it when her guard was down. Her emotions alone felt complicated. She wondered just how crazy she had been to nearly kiss him that morning. Sure, they'd managed to become good friends in a relatively short time, but that was how they would forever remain. They were simply too different - a gruff, older, veteran general and a young, fairly inexperienced newcomer to war. There was also the trouble of her ethnicity. As long as elves retained their current, subservient status in society, any type of more-than-friends relationship with a human would mean nothing but heartache and trouble for both parties. And the castigation would be so much worse for him than for her... would she truly subject him to that after everything else the Landsmeet had stripped from him?

Yet, there was something inexplicably and, she feared, inexorably bubbling underneath the surface. After all the fighting and pain they'd caused each other beforehand, they were now united behind one cause. To his credit, Loghain had put aside his differences with her and done nothing but offer his full support, strength, wit, and skills. There was simply something about it all that caused her heart to flutter and it had all come to a head after he'd made his personal oath to her. And while caught up in the moment, she had thought that perhaps, judging by some of the looks he'd given her, he felt the same way.

Whether he did or didn't was now a moot point. He'd shut it down and that was a clear enough message for the elf. She'd overstepped her boundaries and had been close to making a fool of herself, but at least he'd remained cordial about the whole affair and they were able to save face by returning directly to their old patterns again. It stung, but she reasoned that it was honestly for the best. Once she'd reached that point, she vowed not to linger on it and to instead do as she always had done - push forward and worry about the present and what lay on the horizon.

* * *

With that determination in mind, she finished packing up everything that she would not need that night or the next morning. In the process, she ran across the sketch she'd drawn of the Gwaren orphan's deceased father. It stopped Kallian in her tracks. In all the bustle of the Dalish camp and everything else that had distracted her over the past few days, she'd almost forgotten about it. She took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any to have a little talk with Sarel about his new charge.

By about the fifth or sixth round of dagger-throwing, Zevran felt considerably better than he had earlier that morning. Leliana had been unable to contain herself after the excitement of confirming their suspicions. Shortly after leaving Kallian to Loghain's tender graces, the bard had tracked down the Antivan and immediately filled him in. Chances were that the Warden would be rather miffed if she ever learned that the red-head had broken her confidence. However, it wasn't as if Leliana had stumbled across some vast, dark secret. He and the bard had theorized about the two Grey Wardens before - it was obvious to all but the most oblivious that Loghain liked Kallian, Kallian liked Loghain, and somehow the two were managing to completely dance around the issue with each other.

If it hadn't been so initially painful for Zevran, he might have found it more amusing. Leliana certainly did. She'd giggled like a little girl when she had confided in him and talked about trying to play matchmaker from here on out, but then instantly sobered up afterwards and apologized profusely. Must have been a certain look crossing his face. _Getting sloppy, _he'd lamented. As a former Crow, it was rare for him to allow a weakness to show on the surface. And truly, he'd reasoned, this was not an earth-shattering revelation. They'd both seen it plain as day, both talked about it like juicy gossip around the campfire when they stayed up for watch. Zevran had had his chance with Kallian. He'd had it and had taken every opportunity, both jokingly and serious, to try and sway the Warden. While she had been sweet and delicate with his feelings every time, it was obvious she'd never see him as anything more than a very dear and trusted friend.

And Zevran was fine with that. More than fine, actually. He'd never really had a friend in this world before - at least, not one who wouldn't consider stabbing him in the back if the benefits were right - and he was nothing if not unendingly grateful for what little gifts he could hold onto. But that didn't mean there hadn't been some small part of him that had still held on to hope, had still held a torch for the Warden he wanted but would never have.

So, when Leliana had broken the news, that tiny flame of eternal optimism was suddenly stamped out and something must have reflected that in his body language. She'd immediately apologized - several times, in fact - and called herself an insensitive ass. Then, she'd lain a warm hand upon his shoulder and offered her care and support if he ever needed it. There was a certain look in her eye as she'd said it and the elf realized that a second suspicion of his had been confirmed that day. But while it was sweet of the bard to offer her condolences and drop her subtle hints, Zevran knew that what she truly wanted and would be happier with was a monogamous relationship. And that was something he simply didn't think he could give her. For the Warden, there had been a chance that he might... but none of that mattered now.

When Leliana had left, the elf had remained where he stood for a while, thinking and reflecting. After a time, Kallian had actually surprised him by making a quick visit to explain the timeframe in which they'd be departing the Dalish camp. Zevran was more successful at masking his inner turmoil, it'd appeared, as the Warden's visit was brief and friendly before she quickly moved in the direction of Sten's tent to spread the word. Once she was gone, he'd busied himself with some preliminary packing and then headed off to the archery field to let off some pent-up steam.

It had proven a rather busy and insightful morning, but Zevran had managed to work out his feelings enough that he was now enjoying the feel of flicking his daggers toward the wooden targets. It was a skill far more helpful with assassinations launched from cover than in the open chaos of the battlefield, but it was still a talent he liked to keep sharp. However, he was soon interrupted by a diminutive figure wandering straight into his trajectory. The elf quickly returned the daggers to his double baldric and rushed forward to scoop up the young girl before she could meander in front of the practicing archers.

"Not so fast, little miss," the former Crow chuckled, lifting the Gwaren refugee up onto his shoulders. "You may have easily shaken off your babysitter, but you have to wake up pretty early in the morning to sneak past me."

"Funny Zev!" the small elf giggled.

He smiled. "Yes, yes, I'm such a jokester, I know." The Antivan glanced around for a moment, but didn't see any panicked adults rushing in their direction. It appeared the orphan really _had _pulled a fast one on whoever was supposed to be watching her. "Well, let's find someplace safer for you to play, shall we?" he mused, then grinned wolfishly as an idea struck him. "You know, I think I have just the thing to entertain you... and possibly me as well. What do you say we visit that lovely halla girl?"

"Halla! Halla!" she squealed, clapping her hands.

With the girl perched happily on his shoulders, Zevran loped over to the halla enclosure. As he had hoped, the creatures' kind and attractive keeper was busying herself with... well, he couldn't quite tell _what_ she was doing. He'd thought to catch Elora in the middle of feeding or watering them. Perhaps even grooming them. Something, at least, that he'd easily recognize and have an opportunity to offer his gracious assistance... as well as something simple the girl could do to keep her occupied, too.

Instead, she appeared to be_ decorating _them, which was something the Antivan had never seen before. Several long strips of green fabric hung draped over her shoulders. Carefully, she pulled a piece loose and wrapped it around one of the halla's antlers. The creature appeared relatively unconcerned about the procedure, only snorting slightly and wiggling its ears as the trailing ends of ribbon swayed in the breeze and tickled the furry appendages.

Zevran loudly cleared his throat, causing both the halla and the Dalish to turn and look curiously in his direction. Smiling apologetically, he spread his hands and said, "I'm sorry, but I cannot help but wonder what it is you're doing."

Elora blushed slightly, a rosy color dusting her cheekbones, and giggled. "I never thought of how this might look to an outsider," she explained, "but I suppose it does appear strange." She turned back to the elk-like creature and affectionately stroked the back of its neck. "The halla are revered by our people. Back into time immemorial, they have always travelled the land according to the seasons. We, in turn, have always travelled with them, knowing that they were masters in knowledge of both plentiful food and safe harbor from predators. They are our guides in this realm of existence."

"All right," Zevran replied uncertainly, "that all sounds well and good. But that doesn't explain why you're hanging ribbons from their antlers."

"Oh, right!" The halla keeper blushed further and darted her green eyes towards Zevran and back to the halla again. "Well, the halla have such a close relationship with our people that we often look to them for guidance. So, whenever our hunters are faced with the prospect of open warfare, we ask them for both guidance and protection. The hallas' wisdom and essence is absorbed by the ribbons on their antlers, and we then bestow those ribbons to our warriors in the hopes they will serve as good talismans of our hallas' enlightened spirits, to serve as both spiritual guides and protection."

The former Antivan Crow nodded. While he believed it was all a bunch of superstitious malarkey, he could appreciate the positive sentiment behind it. Besides, it also provided a great excuse to hang around the silver-haired Dalish for some time. Throwing on his most charming grin, Zevran asked, "May my little friend and I be of assistance to you, then? We would be honored-" the Crow performed a small, careful bow that drew peals of laughter from the young child hanging on his shoulders - "to help perform such a noble task with you."

Elora looked at the halla beside her again, then back at the foreign elf. With a small, shy smile, she held out a handful of green ribbons towards him as an answer.

* * *

Kallian found Sarel in just the place she suspected she would: warming his favorite log beside the small campfire around which he told his stories. He was finishing up a tale about Elgar'nan, God of Vengeance, when she saw him catch sight of her. He silently inclined his head once in her direction as acknowledgement.

"All right, my friends, I'm afraid that's the last one for today," he announced to the small assembly before him. "My voice needs a rest before tonight's ceremonies." The lorekeeper stood up to emphasize his point and the others quickly dispersed. He looked back towards the Warden and met her eyes. "The Keeper has already spoken with me, so I've an idea what this is probably about." He sighed to himself. "Come. Walk with me a while."

Sarel headed towards the path that led into the Brecilian Forest, glancing back occasionally to make sure the city elf was following him. Then, he led her into the woods proper, following the winding trail that was occasionally dotted with Dalish lampposts. Kallian looked around as they walked in silence, soaking in the atmospheric change from the last time she'd entered this particular section of woods. When she'd last left it, she'd been busy cutting down shade demons and curing werewolves. There had been an overall feeling of ill omen and foreboding that had seemed to creep into the very essence of everything, from the rippling streams to the towering oak trees. Now, however, that oppressive blanket of gloom had lifted and nature was restoring balance. Birds chirped happily. Butterflies and dragonflies flitted overhead. Specks of sunlight streamed in through breaks in the leafy tree canopy. Life was returning to the Brecilian Forest, slowly but surely.

The Dalish didn't miss the Warden's wandering eyes. "Yes, you have done much to help this forest begin healing," he admitted. "I wish it was this simple for my people."

"I wish it was, too," Kallian answered, "but I will be the first to admit that I don't know the right path for either of us."

"Hmph," he half-snorted, half-sighed. "I have to ask, Warden: why leave the child with us?"

"For safety," she replied. "My party travels straight into the heart of danger. That is no place for a young child."

"So you say," he replied, "but why here? Why with a Dalish clan?"

"You were the closest solution."

"But we weren't the _only_ solution," he rebutted. "You know you'll be travelling with an entire army when you leave here in the morn'. Why not find a place for her in one of the human towns south of here? You grew up in one, so you know better what she could expect from a human town than a Dalish clan." He paused, then turned and fixed the city elf with an impugning stare. "Or perhaps that's why you'd rather give the _da'len_ to us than leave her anyplace else? You've vouched for the shems in the past, but you understand their true nature, don't you?"

"Not all humans are bigoted," Kallian replied through slightly gritted teeth. "That's all I've said. But I've never stated all were shining examples of goodness either."

"You don't trust them; _that's_ what you mean," he shot back. "At least, not enough to put an elven child in their hands."

Kallian narrowed her eyes, not liking the direction Sarel was trying to take the conversation. "No, I don't trust them - and by them, I mean the towns to the south. I have not been in them. I know nothing of them. I don't even know if they have Alienages. You and your clan, I at least know. I trust you."

"But if you had the choice, would you rather she grow up in an Alienage, like you?"

She didn't have an immediate answer to that.

"Warden, our people are dying, in case that wasn't obvious," Sarel admitted. "There are fewer and fewer Dalish born in all the clans every year. And what we lack in births, we make up precious few in city-born elves who come to us in some fashion... much like our Keeper or your refugee."

"Not necessarily dying," countered Kallian. "Changing would be another way to look at it. Not all change is bad, Sarel."

"Not all change is bad?" the lorekeeper spluttered. "Not all change is bad?! Our people once ruled this land! And now look at us: half are declining while trying to stay true to our heritage, while the other half wastes away in squalor while trying to find acceptance with the shemlem that will never come!"

"I don't know all the answers, Sarel," she sighed. "But being divided like this does nothing to strengthen either side. At some point, Dalish and city elves need to come together and figure out a joint path for our people as a whole. Wandering the forests is providing no better solution than the Alienages currently are. If we all came together, maybe we could figure out something better. For _all _of us."

Sarel chewed on that thought for a while, falling silent and looking down into the babbling brook running alongside the pathway. Then, he looked back in her direction and shrugged. "I'll be honest, Warden. I don't know the answer either. But I do agree that the present strategy seems to benefit no one but the shem."

After a long period of silence, Kallian asked, "So, you have no objections to taking in Adaia?" It was only the second time she had spoken the name aloud, and it still felt just as awkward as the first time.

The Dalish looked down at his feet for a moment. "No," he answered, looking back up at the Warden, "I don't. However, I do wonder at the name."

"How so?"

"It's a Dalish one, but no one here shares it."

Kallian's eyebrows wrinkled. "It was my mother's name."

"Really?" he wondered. "And she was born in the Denerim Alienage, as you were?"

The Warden was silent for a while. Her mother had shared much with her, but now that she thought about it, there was also much that Adaia had kept hidden from her only child. Kallian knew of her mother's parents, but did not really know that much about them - didn't know, for instance, what Alienage they hailed from. Kallian knew several life lessons that had been passed down and had heard a few stories of thievery from her mother, but knew nothing of her mother's childhood. Finally, after a long period of reflection, the city elf answered, "I'm not entirely sure. I know I was born in the Alienage. I had assumed my mother was as well, but I do not know for certain."

"Curious..." Sarel wondered aloud, scratching his chin in thought.

"At any rate, that wasn't why I came to you." Kallian pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment from her back pants pocket. She unfurled it and handed it to the lorekeeper. "I sketched a drawing of the girl's deceased father when we found her. They had been citizens of Gwaren fleeing to Denerim from darkspawn attacks. Their caravan fell prey to a darkspawn raiding party." She paused, carefully considering her next words. "Her parents were both killed in the attack. Unfortunately, her mother's body was badly damaged, so I only have the rendition of her father. My thought was that you could give it to her whenever you decided the time was right, if ever. But my assumption is that if the girl ever wonders about her origins, you would be truthful with her."

The Dalish took the sheet of paper from her and looked over the sketch. Then, he carefully rolled it back up and tucked it inside his belt. "When the time is right, " he agreed. "And what of you, Warden, and your companions?"

"Let her treasure whatever memories she retains from our short time together," she answered, "but tell her the truth if she wants to know. That a group of warriors rescued her, sheltered her for a time, then gave her a good home before departing to do their duty."

* * *

Adaia was bored. The small elf, held up within reach by Zevran, had greatly enjoyed wrapping ribbons around the hallas' antlers. However, once the task at hand was completed, Zevran and the elf woman had continued talking. Their conversation was boring, and neither of them would let her wander too far away nor too close to the hallas' legs, which she wanted to pet. That left her standing in one place with nothing constructive to do and that was quickly making her grumpy.

The young elf tried her best to entertain herself by looking around as far as she could see. Behind the halla enclosure was a small mountain of rocks. Those would be fun to climb, but she knew Zevran wouldn't let her go that far. Sighing, her eyes roamed over to the lake beside the pen. There were frogs and turtles swimming about and dragonflies buzzing back and forth between the cattails and the lillies. It would definitely be fun trying to catch any of those but, again, she knew she wouldn't be allowed over there either. Feeling an almighty pout coming on, Adaia's eyes swept around further and spotted possible salvation: not too far from the outer perimeter of the fence, Sten and Daveth were engaged in a heated round of tug-of-war with an old, worn-out scrap of cloth. Watching, or better yet, joining in on that would most certainly be fun, and Sten could technically be her new babysitter.

Stamping her feet with impatience to get someone's attention, Adaia harrumphed and pointed towards her desired destination. To her dismay, both adults continued talking. Determined to have her way, the small elf tugged heartily on the skirt of Zevran's light armor. He finally looked down at her and chuckled, "Yes, my dear? You have some dire emergency?"

Once more, Adaia pointed fervently towards Sten and Daveth. "Sten an' Doggy!" she exclaimed. "Wanna go Sten an' Doggy!"

The former Crow chuckled again and relented. "All right, all right," he sighed, rolling his eyes at the halla keeper. "I'll go pass the torch and be back to pick up where we left off, yes?" Elora's blushing smile gave him all the answer he needed.

The Gwaren refugee squealed in delight when they reached their destination. Zevran and Sten passed a few words, which the young elf missed entirely. She was far too distracted by Daveth's sudden, undivided attention. The Mabari yipped and hopped circles around her like a puppy, wagging his stubby tail. As Zevran made a swift retreat back to the halla pen and his silver-haired quarry, Daveth picked right back up where he'd left off, hoisting up the raggedy cloth and tossing it playfully towards Adaia.

The girl giggled and reached out to grab it, but immediately made a disgusted face and pulled her hand back as soon as she'd touched it. "Eeeew!" she shrieked. "Yucky!"

Indeed, the scrap was sullied with dirt and drool. However, Daveth was determined to share playtime with his newest friend. With a quiet whine, he pushed the cloth closer to her with his nose, gruffing and snuffling at her initial rejection. Adaia made a face at him, sticking out her tongue and shaking her head profusely. The Mabari countered with a cocked head and pleading eyes, managing to add that extra little burst of shimmering moisture to them that almost always resulted in two-leggers caving in to his demands. The girl valiantly fought his dirty tactics for a few seconds. She sighed. She dramatically rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, unconsciously mimicking the Warden. Daveth crinkled his forehead, whimpered, and sadly hung his head. With a loud groan, the child caved in and picked up the dirty, wet rag. The warhound instantly dropped the poor-pitiful-me act and turned a few circles, barking in triumph.

The two played together for quite some time before both found themselves equally tuckered out. Panting heavily, Daveth found a nice, shady spot and curled up for a late afternoon nap. Adaia thought that was a pretty good idea and sought to do the same. Looking around, she found their area had grown quiet. Sten was gone, replaced by the funny dwarf. At the moment, he was sitting on a log and snoring loudly. Glancing towards the halla enclosure, Zevran and his new lady friend were nowhere to be found. The young elf yawned, rubbed her eyes, and made her way over towards the first group of tents she could find.

* * *

"This makes no sense," Loghain sighed, rubbing his right temple.

Sitting alone in his tent, seeking some peace and quiet solitude, he'd spread out what he called his Blight Map and sank himself into studying it. It had once been a simple map of Ferelden, but after he'd been forced to accept that a Blight was truly happening, he had re-purposed it. Every settlement that was lost in the southern Bannorn bore a red X through it. Locations of random darkspawn attacks, as reported by survivors or by traveling merchants who'd happened upon the obvious carnage, were marked with a black X.

The master strategist looked upon all these locations, trying to discern some noticeable pattern, some methodology, some plan of attack or occupation exhibited by the Archdemon. But nothing obvious jumped out at him. As far as he could tell, other than being largely grouped in the southern half of Ferelden, there was simply no rhyme or reason to the locations that were hit. Where one town fell, the one only a few miles east or west of it remained. The Blight was hitting Ferelden like a tornado; it was as if the Archdemon had a copy of his map tacked onto a dartboard, and the twisted beast was closing its eyes and ravaging whatever part of the map its errantly thrown dart happened to sink into next.

Loghain slammed a fist down in frustration. Running his eyes further down the map, they couldn't help but fall upon the little circled K that served as the Warden's brand on all his maps she'd carefully reconstructed... and that was a subject that simply brought even more frustration. _What was she thinking? _he mentally groused. She had very nearly kissed him that morning, but what made it much worse was that he had nearly done the same! That was another situation that held as little rhyme or reason as the random darkspawn attacks. The two had been mortal enemies not that long ago. They had come together completely unexpectedly and none-too-happily for either side's taste. She'd made a fool of him every step of the way before the Landsmeet, then finished the shaming in the most humiliating manner possible by not only besting him in one-on-one combat, but then forcing him to become a subordinate under her command.

And yet, she _had_ made every effort to treat him as an equal since then, something that did not go either unnoticed or unappreciated by him. However, the fact that she always seemed to keep one step ahead of him burrowed under his skin. She'd done it before the Landsmeet, always managing to evade his assassins, and she continued to do so now to a differing degree. Just when he'd thought he'd shut her out completely on their first days in camp together, she'd managed to draw him out and get him talking - and then _kept _him talking, in spite of himself. Just when he'd thought he'd managed to push her away time and time again, she'd relentlessly come back for more. And just when he'd thought he might get closer to even with their psychological debt, she'd still found ways to put herself at least one up on him.

It was a relationship not even meant to _be_, much less one to last. A mutual respect? Sure. A friendship? Unexpected, but not entirely unwanted. Something more than that? Absolutely not. For one, they were personalities too entirely different to really coexist for an extended period of time. Secondly, he appeared - from what timeframes he could piece together - old enough to be her father, which added its own element of discomfort. Thirdly, while he held nothing personally against her race, it seemed a rather bad idea to get intimately mixed up with her kind. Maric had dallied around with elves and it'd always ended in disaster: one had nearly caused the ruin of the entire Rebellion and the other had resulted in a bastard child and further sorrow for Maric. Besides, the last time Loghain had developed feelings on the battlefield, back during the Rebellion, it had only led to frustration, complications, and no small amount of heartache for all parties involved. Overall, it was a terrible idea with nothing but bad outcomes destined for it.

Loghain sighed and slowly rubbed his eyes with his left hand, then gazed at the doorflap through the spaces between his fingers. Just as he was starting to succeed in pushing the Warden from the forefront of his mind, a small, pointy-eared reminder of her big heart and his big failures came crawling into his tent. Once inside, the Gwaren refugee looked up and immediately brightened at his presence.

"Loggy!" she exclaimed, springing towards him with outstretched arms. Fatherly instincts caused him to return the gesture and catch her in his grasp. She giggled sharply and squirmed around in his lap for a few moments before finally settling down in a comfortable position. Then, she noticed the map unfurled before them. "Wha's tha'?" she asked, pointing at the parchment.

The old general smiled down at her, not necessarily unhappy for the distraction. Gesturing across the entire map, he explained, "That's a drawing of Ferelden, the country we live in." At her wide, questioning eyes, he continued, pointing out places of interest. "There," he said, resting his finger on Gwaren, "is the place you were born." Sliding it towards Denerim, he continued, "That is the capital of our country, and where you and your parents were trying to go before you ended up with us." Moving back down to the heart of the Brecilian Forest, he added, "And here's where we are now."

Resting her head against his forearm, the young elf smiled and ran her hand across the spot of map he'd last indicated. "I like here," she said casually.

Chuckling softly, he commented, "That's probably for the best."

Their quiet moment was suddenly broken by yet another elven head poking inside Loghain's tent. This one, however, was not necessarily the most welcome sight.

"There you are!" the Warden exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you."

Loghain frowned. Adaia smiled. The older elf squeezed in and took a seat beside her fellow Grey Warden, looking over at the Gwaren refugee. He couldn't help but notice the way she fervently tried to avoid looking directly at him. He also wasn't entirely sure if that should make him feel relieved or disappointed.

"Cow!" the child cheered, thrusting her outstretched towards the older elf.

Kallian chuckled and pulled the child over into her lap. "You're a hard one to find, you know. You've managed to slip by not one, but two babysitters."

Loghain wasn't quite sure if the child's expression mimicked slight shame or mild pride at the Warden's comment.

After another good-hearted chuckle, Kallian turned serious. "I know we haven't had any serious talks since you joined our little party," she prefaced, "but it's time for one now." The younger elf looked up at her with questioning eyes. "The time has come when we must leave you soon. You'll stay here with the Dalish elves-"

"-no!" the child interrupted. "No go!"

"I'm sorry," explained the older elf, "but it must be this way. You remember those scary monsters that attacked you?"

Adaia shut her eyes tightly, choking back sobbing memories.

Kallian continued, "Those monsters are still out there. They'll attack other people, other children just like you. We're the only ones who can stop them. It's our job to go and make sure they don't hurt anyone else."

At the Warden's mention of 'we're' and 'our', Adaia looked over fearfully at Loghain. He gazed down at the child and gave her a small, sad smile. "She's right," he said. "We have to go stop those monsters so that nobody else has to worry about them again."

"You'll be safe here," added Kallian. "There is a whole clan full of elves to make sure you stay safe. You just have to be brave and trust them."

The child was quiet for a while, seemingly trying to absorb all that she had been told. After several moments, she looked down and whispered, "I no brave."

"Of course you're brave," countered the Warden. "You did the smart thing and hid when you were attacked. Many others would have run away in their fear, and they would not have survived like you did." The child looked down at the ground, seemingly unconvinced. "And because of that bravery and those smarts," Kallian pressed, "I'm giving you an honorable name to use until you can remember your own again."

At that, both the young girl and Loghain looked up at her.

"For the time being," said Kallian, "your name is Adaia. That was my mother's name, and she was the bravest person I ever knew. When I was a child, only a few years older than you are now, we were attacked. She gave her life so that I would live." After a short pause, she added, "Of course, whenever you remember the name your parents gave you, go back to it if you desire. But if you never remember it, then at least know that you are Adaia, named after someone with the same smarts and bravery you have."

Adaia did not look entirely convinced, but her worried demeanor appeared to lift considerably. Then, as another thought suddenly struck her, she looked between Kallian and Loghain once more and asked, "When monsters gone, you come back?"

The Warden glanced up and met Loghain's eyes. The same thought passed between them: an understanding that either one might not make it out of the Blight alive, but the girl didn't need to be burdened with such worries.

Looking down at the girl, Kallian replied, "Yes, when we have defeated the monsters, we will come back and visit you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Pinky promise?" Adaia held out the pinky finger of her right hand. Her face held all the seriousness of a child's most solemn vow.

Fighting down an amused smirk, the Warden wrapped her own pinky around the child's and shook. "Pinky promise." The young girl's face lit up brightly, and all appeared right in her world again.

Just as Kallian was about to suggest the two of them go and find Sarel, a third elven head poked into Loghain's tent. "Ah-ha, there you are!" called Zevran. He slipped inside the tent and kneeled down on one knee. "I might have guessed you'd be found in Loghain's tent eventually."

"Just what is _that_ supposed to mean?" the warrior huffed, eyes narrowing.

Unable to resist a chance to tag-team tease Loghain, despite the recently added awkward tension now floating between them, Kallian put on a pseudo-admonishing tone and waggled a finger at her fellow rogue. "You shouldn't barge in unannounced like that, Zev," she scolded. "What if you'd stumbled upon us making mad, passionate love?"

"Oh, my poor virgin ears!" he lamented.

That suddenly reminded the Warden that their style of humor was probably not the most appropriate for young children. She quickly covered Adaia's ears with her hands.

"Wait, what am I saying?" Zevran continued. "I'd have asked to join in, of course! It would've been like something out of a dirty book. I can see it now... 'Two Elves and a Grump'."

"Is there a point to all this?" Loghain grunted, temper quickly rising. "Did you need something?"

"You mean, did I need something besides some legendary Grey Warden-"

"For the love of-"

Suddenly, a red-haired head joined the fray, popping inside the tentflap and surveying the rather crowded interior. "Zevran," said Leliana, "what are you... oh, there you are, Kal! Just like I thought."

Looking thoroughly unamused, Loghain asked, "Is there some reason why everyone thinks the most logical place to find the Warden is in my tent?"

Ignoring him, Kallian looked at the bard and asked, "What is it, Lel?"

"Anyone?" repeated Loghain. "Anyone at all?"

Also ignoring him, Leliana explained, "Zevran and I split up to try and find you for the Dalish Keeper. Apparently, you are needed for some pre-festivity preparations."

"Festivity?" the general asked, suspecting he wouldn't like the answer.

"Yes, the Dalish are throwing a traditional pre-war party," Leliana explained. Then, she shot him a warning look. "I hear attendance is _not_ optional."

"Well, then, let's not keep the Keeper waiting, shall we?" said the Warden.

* * *

While Kallian's own attempted wedding ceremony had not gone as planned, she had attended several successful, uninterrupted weddings as she was growing up in the Alienage. One thing that had always struck her was the shared sense of joy and life that flowed through all the elves in attendance, no matter how poor and destitute they were. Sure, there might have been some petty jealousies espoused beforehand, but that all disappeared once the actual ceremony began. There were flowers and flowing hand-me-down gowns, heirloom tapestries hung about for decoration, what food and drink could be gathered and spared, and smiles and laughter all around.

She could see, now, that this was tradition that had survived the splitting of their people. Just as the city elves had modest, humble surroundings and precious few belongings, so, too, did the nomadic Dalish. A mixture of woven and painted blankets hung around the main encampment, framing the area with color. Dalish lanterns added their ethereal, blue light to the growing darkness of evening. Varathorn's crafting tables had been cleared and re-arranged to serve as stations holding food and drink.

All around, the Dalish gathered in mixed garments. Those staying behind wore ceremonial elven attire. Those who would be going off with the army wore their battle leathers and were additionally recognized by the solitary feather tied into their hair. Keeper Lanaya had helped Kallian with hers, although she found it rather distracting. The Warden always kept her hair up in a ponytail. Wearing her copper tresses down was bad enough. Having a grey feather tied into the bangs framing the right side of her face was driving her peripheral vision crazy. She blew her breath out quickly, which spun the feather away for a moment before it came floating back down beside her cheek again. _Oh, well, _she mentally sighed. _Maybe I'll get used to it as the evening wears on. Or rip it out the first chance I get._

Lanaya cleared her throat and nodded at the Warden. Kallian nodded as well and looked back towards the crowd, knowing the ceremony was about to get underway. She, Lanaya, and Athras stood in a row at the front, the Keeper's tent serving as their backdrop. Before them, a throng of people of stood: the assembled army and their families, a mixture of Dalish from Lanaya's clan as well as the other clans that had managed to arrive thus far, and the Warden's own ragtag unit. The night was alive with the constant murmur of the assembly and an anxious anticipation hung in the air.

All sound quickly hushed, however, when the Keeper raised up her arms. Lanaya ran her eyes across the gathering, then began to address the assembly in elvish. The Warden had no idea what was being said, so she passed the time by watching how the rest of the Dalish responded. It seemed like any other solemn gathering she had witnessed: everyone looked serious and somber, with the occasional nod or worried look. After several minutes, the Keeper bowed her head to a young girl near the front who looked to be nearing adulthood. The youth approached them, then turned around, faced the crowd, and sang out in a beautiful, soprano voice. Again, it was in the elvish language, but Kallian felt something stir in her bones and she blinked back tears. She saw most of her fellow elves doing the same... and then she couldn't stop a small smile when she saw Leliana's face absolutely intoxicated by the girl's song.

The youth performed a quick, shy bow and returned to the crowd when she had finished. Shortly after, with the song's end obviously serving as a cue, Elora the halla keeper appeared from behind the Keeper's tent. Following in tow behind her was a line of halla, all with antlers trailing ribbons. The appearance had a sudden and immediate effect on the gathered Dalish; the Warden could hear several women openly crying before all the elves, almost as one, bowed their heads. When she saw Athras bow his head as well, she quickly followed suit.

Lanaya spoke a few lines of elvish that, judging by the tone and cadence, sounded rather like a prayer. The Keeper paused, and the Dalish crowd responded with several lines of elvish spoken together at once. This repeated back and forth a few times before everyone looked back up once more. Kallian felt Lanaya softly elbow her side and quickly looked up as well. Elora led one particular halla up to them which, the Warden observed, had one grey ribbon and one yellow ribbon mixed in with the green ones. Lanaya approached the halla, placed her hand on its forehead, and spoke a few, soft words. Then, she slowly untied the yellow and grey ribbons. The Keeper stepped in front of Athras, announced something in elvish to the assembly, and tied the yellow ribbon around his left wrist. She repeated the same with the Warden, tying the grey ribbon to Kallian's left wrist. Stepping back, the Lanaya spoke one, final elvish sentence and the crowd broke out into applause. Afterwards, the crowd began to break apart as elves approached the other halla and began untying green ribbons.

The Keeper then began to speak once more, but this time in the common tongue. "To our non-Dalish guests," she announced, "I apologize for the long ceremony in which you missed out on the meaning. It is one always done on the eve before the Dalish march to war. In short, this was our purpose: to formally acknowledge both the threat to our world and our duty to honor the Grey Warden treaty; to recognize Athras as the Dalish war leader and Kallian as the army's commander; to ask our gods to both guide and protect you, even though you do not worship them; and to include you in the ribbon blessing ceremony and dance."

"And what is that?" asked Leliana, looking genuinely curious.

Lanaya smiled. "The halla serve as our mortal guides," she explained. "We ask them to bless these ribbons. Then, we ask the loved ones of those going to war to tie the ribbons around their warrior's wrist and share the first dance of the evening. It is, obviously, a very ceremonial and symbolic practice, but it also has a very practical purpose as well. Because the majority of Dalish warriors favor the bow for battle, having the ribbon on their aiming wrist helps them to eye the direction of the wind before they fire their arrow." She turned to the Warden to speak to her directly. "Now, because there is such a strong ceremonial value to the tradition, you may join in as well. Since your party has no kin here, you may wish to give them green ribbons as a sign of your favor."

"I'd like that," Kallian said, smiling.

The Keeper bowed. "Then you are free to now join the festivities. After the first ceremonial dance is completed, the floor is open to anyone and everyone for general merry-making."

With that, the Warden turned towards the halla that had borne the grey and yellow ribbons and plucked seven green ones from its horns. She motioned to her group to form a single, uniform row, which they did, though with much eye-rolling from Morrigan. Then, she proceeded to go one-by-one, tying the green ribbons to their left wrists, starting with Oghren at the very end of the line, then moving to Morrigan, to Wynne, to Sten, then to Leliana. When she reached Zevran, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to come face-to-face with Elora.

Blushing, the silver-haired Dalish asked, "May I?"

Kallian arched an eyebrow, then said, "Be my guest." The halla keeper practically beamed and rushed past her to bestow her favor upon the former Crow. The Warden shot Zevran a questioning look over the girl's shoulder. He replied with a slightly-embarrassed chuckle. Kallian then had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at the look of absolute loathing Leliana gave Elora.

Side-stepping the slight interruption, the Warden found herself standing in front of Loghain. As she stared down at the green ribbon in her hands, the instant shift of feeling in the air around them was palpable. Kallian no longer liked it. Earlier that morning, it had been an excited tingling of anticipation and wonder that hovered between them, as if both had been on the cusp of something new and exciting, maybe even dangerous and forbidden. And then she had moved far too quickly, overstepped her boundaries by trying to kiss him and she'd been instantly cut off. She'd tried to brush it aside and return them to the comfortable friendship they'd shared prior, but Loghain seemed to be having none of it. Every interaction with him since then had been cold, distant, and guarded, and this one felt no different.

She looked up into his eyes and held them. He was difficult to read, obviously trying to keep a neutral expression on his face, but she was sure she spotted something in his eyes - uncertainty, nervousness - that gave her some vague hope that perhaps he'd not completely written her off. However, the last thing she felt like doing was pushing her luck with any more honest advances. She looked back down, grabbed his left wrist, and then proceeded to tie the green ribbon around it as quickly and clinically as she could.

His baritone voice suddenly coursed through her as he gruffly spoke. "You know I'm not going to dance with you."

The Warden gritted her teeth and closed her eyes to keep from completely unleashing how she truly felt at the moment. While it was painfully apparent she had started developing feelings towards him, that didn't warrant him being a bigger ass than usual. When she opened her eyes again, she pinned him with a cold fury. "I didn't plan on asking you to," she spat with barely-contained venom.

Not wanting to wait and give him a chance to respond and, most likely, escalate things, Kallian turned her back to him. She still had an extra green ribbon thanks to Elora pilfering Zevran. She looked around for Daveth, but then caught Adaia tying her own green ribbon to the Mabari's collar. While adorable, that did leave her standing there rather stupidly with one extra ribbon. However, Athras walked up and rescued her from the awkward situation. He took the spare ribbon and tied it around the Warden's left wrist, just behind her grey ribbon.

"For extra guidance," he said, "since you're tasked with leading the lot of us." Then, he added carefully, "I couldn't help but overhear your exchange with Ser Loghain."

She snorted in response.

"I don't disagree with that," he chuckled. "I just wanted to point out that since there _is _an expectation of a first dance... and, well, you know my own personal situation." Athras wiped his sweaty palms on the sides of his thighs. "I just wanted to say, Warden, that I would be honored... and relieved... to have this first dance with you. Then, you'd be free to do whatever you'd like and I'd be free to retire back to my tent, which would be my preference, frankly."

Just then, the Dalish music began. It was both rustic and quaint, but not entirely foreign from the beats she'd heard in Denerim's taverns. There was the familiar pounding of drums and whistling of flutes and recorders. However, there was one instrument she didn't recognize hearing before and it was quite mesmerizing. Looking towards the musicians, she spotted the one with the strange, new tune: an elf holding what appeared to be a thick stick - which must be hollow, she surmised - that sounded as if it were filled with little pebbles. He shook it about and turned it from one end to the other, and it made a sound like rain trickling on a rooftop.

Looking back towards Athras, the Warden saw him holding an inviting hand out towards her. Smiling, she graciously took it and the two began to slowly dance. At first, Kallian was very self-conscious and a little concerned. She'd never formerly danced with someone before, much less with a Dalish elf, and wasn't quite sure what to do. However, Athras seemed familiar with the steps and gracefully led her. It seemed as simple as stepping side-to-side back and forth, slowly turning circles. Kallian stole glances at the other pairs occasionally, checking that she was doing the right thing. Once, she spotted a certain couple that she recognized and it made her heart feel warmer: Gheyna danced with Cammen, who had a green ribbon tied around his wrist - the star-crossed pair she'd helped to unite the first time she'd been in the Dalish camp. It seemed Cammen had proven himself a good enough hunter to be a part of the army now. The Warden wasn't entirely sure if she felt proud or guilty about that.

Once the first song ended, Athras made a quiet exit. Before long, a new Dalish elf approached Kallian, having noticed her dancing with the recent widower and knowing Athras had not yet passed out of the proper mourning period to seek a new mate, meaning she had no announced suitor. He gave the Warden an exaggerated bow, the feather tied to his bangs hanging briefly in his face. "My name is Devros," he said. "Will you honor me with a dance?"

Kallian looked him over briefly. She was not particularly interested in the elf, but she did want to dance, and dancing alone sometimes carried a certain embarrassing air to it. Additionally, she caught the rather dark look Loghain gave the elf who'd approached her, and that made up her mind more than anything else.

"Devros," the Warden said with an over-enthusiastic smile, "the honor is all mine."

* * *

Loghain glared in the Warden's general direction. He attempted not to make it so obvious, but he found it rather difficult to try and disguise. The decision he'd reached earlier that afternoon, that it would be for the best of them both if he batted down any further flirts from her, was the sound and logical one, he knew. However, he was finding it to be more of an internal battle than he'd first anticipated. There was a part of him that, he had to painfully admit, was becoming quite smitten with her - with the parts of her that were so very like Rowan and Celia and with the parts of her that weren't like either of them at all, but that he found attractive all the same. That part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind. Wanted to remind him that he'd already lost everything anyway, so what more could he possibly lose by taking this chance? That part of him scolded him for how he'd treated her earlier, for mocking her about the dance, as if he'd pulled the wings off a butterfly. That part of him was not at all pleased to see other men asking her for dances.

But the more logical and calculated part of him was right. He was much older, much more different, and there was simply too much at stake on both a national and global level to risk anything breaking down due to inevitable relationship woes. He'd had his chances at a wife, family, and white picket fences and life had seen to it that such wouldn't be his fate enough times for him to know not to bother again. And what of the Warden? She was still young, full of life and optimism. The world hadn't managed to beat her down yet. The last thing she needed - nor truly wanted, if put to the test - was a grizzled old man who'd been chewed up and spat out enough times to just not give a damn anymore. That part of him looked on her and saw better things for her future: he'd help her defeat the Blight, sacrificing himself if and as needed, and she'd go on to live as full a life as she could as a Grey Warden. To truly fall in love with someone who'd make her happy, who'd fulfill her, who'd spoil her and worship her. Maybe she'd marry that fellow, maybe they'd have children. But that fellow wasn't him. He was worn out and done. Ending the Blight would be Loghain's last hurrah.

Leliana's voice interrupted his thoughts with her usual, inane rambling. "You don't seem very impressed with the Dalish."

"Should I be?" he countered. "They're just elves. They all look the same to me."

"Oh, you're a funny one," she sarcastically countered. "But truly, does none of this pique your curiosity at all? The aravels, the halla... everything just seems so... so old and mystical."

"I've seen it all before," explained the veteran. "It rather loses its luster when you know they'd just as soon slit your throat as look at you."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" exclaimed the bard.

Loghain shrugged. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"You've been among the Dalish before?" she asked.

"Shortly after I'd met Maric," he explained. "We were captured by a clan of Dalish down in the Korcari Wilds while fleeing a raid on my father's camp, but that's a story for another time."

Before either one could make another remark, Kallian stumbled over towards her group. While most had all kept to the same area, she'd been off dancing with suitor after suitor, drinking merrily and having a grand old time. The elf shot Loghain a look he could only interpret as unkind before fixing her gaze on the qunari. "Come on, Sten," she pleaded. "Dance with me."

"No."

The Warden sighed, then pinned a look on Oghren. The dwarf, already feeling quite well on his homebrew, got up and waddled out with her to the general dance area. As they started to dance, Zevran finally managed to disengage himself from Elora and stumbled over towards the Warden's party to take a seat and catch his breath.

Wishing to change their previous subject, Leliana mentioned to Loghain, "You should go dance with Kal. She looks... awkward... dancing with Oghren."

"Actually, I think it's just her _dancing_ that looks awkward," he countered.

"Oh, is _that_ what you call it?" Morrigan piped up. "Does anyone else feel a better description would be 'full body dry heave'? No? 'Tis just me?"

"It's an elf thing, I'm afraid," Zevran confessed. "We can only refrain from frolicking for so long before we must burst forth with joyful movement. For example, look at me sitting here, muscles all a-tremble again. I can barely contain myself."

Morrigan arched an eyebrow. "Zevran, you can barely contain yourself about anything."

"Alas," he sighed, "guilty as charged."

As the next song faded away, a very winded Oghren huffed back over to take a seat. The Warden followed shortly thereafter. She paused long enough to give Loghain another unpleasant stare, then turned towards Zevran. "I see you are finally free," she said, holding her right hand out towards her fellow elf. "Would you be so kind?"

The assassin looked towards Loghain and winked. "There are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess." With that, he followed Kallian out into the main throng of gyrating bodies.

"I swear, the things I could do to you..." Oghren jeered.

"Ugh," Morrigan gagged. "It's leering at me once again..."

"Oh, did I say that out loud?" he chuckled, then belched. Oghren looked over to Loghain, who was now closest to him with Zevran gone. "Care for a sip?" he asked, holding out his personal ale jug.

The former teryn took one sniff and crinkled his nose. "Surely you're joking?"

"What are ya, sissy?" the dwarf goaded.

Loghain narrowed his eyes. Then, against his better judgment, he snatched the jug out of Oghren's hands and took a swig. The taste was absolutely one of the most wretched things he'd ever had - almost, but not quite, as bad as that Grey Warden Joining ritual concoction.

The warrior's facial expression set the dwarf off into laughter. "Heh heh, sissy boy!" he taunted. Then, after catching a quick glance from the bard, he added, "I guess that's why ya won't dance wit' tha' Warden, eh? Sissy boy."

"What?"

Leliana tried desperately to give the dwarf a 'wrong approach, stop' signal.

"Ya heard me right," Oghren continued, completely missing the bard's cues. "If I had a pretty elven girl like tha' all sweet on me, you can bet I'd be takin' advantage o' that!" With a leering laugh and another large gulp from his ale, he continued, "Ya know wha' I'm talkin' 'bout. Buried to the hilt in-"

"Excuse me?!"

Leliana buried her face in her hands and groaned miserably. Loghain bolted up, completely done with the conversation, and stormed off. Oghren, not at all put off with the turn of the conversation, took yet another swig from his jug and ambled back out onto the dancefloor. After several moments of mourning how terribly the attempted matchmaking had gone thus far, Leliana looked back up. Then, her eyes widened in horror at the sight of a dwarf dancing about in his smallclothes. A few screams erupted.

"Oghren!" Kallian shouted. "You! Pants! Now!"

* * *

Author's Note: It's good to be back. Do let me know if I seem to have come back in the same swing of things or not. I have lots of rust to shake off, unfortunately. As always, below is a mix of songs that helped serve as inspiration for various bits of this chapter.

Kallian's Mixed Thoughts - Throughout the Entire Chapter) Three instrumentals, one called "The Black Rose" by Joanie Madden, one called "Hearts In Chains" by Acoustic Alchemy, and one called "Ancient Pines" by Loreena McKennitt

Zevran Sorts Out His Feelings) "Black" by Pearl Jam, "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers, and "You're Beautiful" by James Blunt

"Halla Girl") Not gonna lie. As soon as Zevran's line popped into my head, it was immediately followed by Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" (which I am utterly convinced would be on Zevran's iPod if he had one). I died a little inside. And now I just planted that song in your head, along with the mental image of Zevran dancing around to it... in the cheerleader outfit from the music video and perfectly-timed pelvic thrusts. And that'll be stuck in your brain for a while, I promise you that. Because that damned song is an earworm. It's bananas... B-A-N-A-N-A-S. You're welcome for that.

Kallian's Talk with Sarel) "Standing Stones" by Jeremy Soule from the _Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim _soundtrack

Loghain's Brooding Thoughts - Throughout the Entire Chapter) "It Ain't Me Babe" by Johnny Cash (as performed by Joaquin Phoenix & Reese Witherspoon in _Walk The Line_) and "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd

Bonding with Adaia) "Wake Up" by Arcade Fire and, for instrumental, "Lala" by Lebo M. from _The Lion King: Rhythm of the Pridelands _soundtrack and "Earth" by Hans Zimmer from the _Gladiator _soundtrack

The Blessing & First Dance) "The Best Is Yet To Come" from the _Metal Gear Solid _soundtrack, composed by Rika Muranaka and performed by Aoife Ni Fhearraigh

Dancing with the Dalish) "Huron 'Beltane' Fire Dance" and "Santiago" by Loreena McKennitt and "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly; for purely instrumental, I was rather fond of "The Courtship" off of the _Dinosaur_ soundtrack by James Newton Howard


End file.
